


solid ground

by antspaul



Series: growing season [2]
Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, Established Relationship, F/M, Jerry's family, Largely written & planned before season 3, M/M, Marriage, Minor(ish) character death in later chapters, Miscarriage, Painstaking historical accuracy, Poverty, Pregnancy, Prizefighting, Recovery, Relapse, alternative universe, graphic(ish) depiction of violence and injury, mixed with many historical inaccuracies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:49:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 40,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22092850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antspaul/pseuds/antspaul
Summary: It's 1906. Diana and Jerry are married and older now, living in Montreal and living the simple life of a poor family. But things are far from simple. Jerry has a secret, Diana's growing restless, and what happened a year ago still haunts them. They walk a tenuous line, each step bringing them closer to their breaking point.
Relationships: Cole Mackenzie/Original Male Character(s), Diana Barry/Jerry Baynard, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Series: growing season [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1522907
Comments: 34
Kudos: 140





	1. Monday, January 10, 1906

**Author's Note:**

> MAJOR shoutout to phoebe (@remylebae), gus, and tessa (Lil_Rehead) for being my closest fandom friends! Phoebe and Gus have single-handedly motivated me to keep writing this fic even though there were weeks and months that i didn't even want to look at it lol. I know that I said thin ice would get a sequel in jan 2019 and like... this is a year later but like... hey at least its here lol??? 
> 
> as always, this fic will deal with topics surrounding eating disorders and while the depictions of those things will not be nearly as graphic as they were in thin ice, they will still be present to a certain extent so if you are sensitive to such things i would warn you against reading this fic. 
> 
> if you haven't read thin ice, i would encourage you to do so but i don't think it's strictly necessary to understand this? all you really need to know is that in the first fic, diana has an eating disorder (probably anorexia binge/purge type, but edging into bulimia) at the same time as her relationship with jerry starts to blossom. diana eventually goes into treatment and her and jerry's relationship ends on an ambiguous but hopeful note. 
> 
> other important details include jerry's family, which will play a pretty significant role in this story. they aren't the exact family featured in season 3, but since they were used in my first fic they will also be used here. if you want a quick introduction to them, the second half of thin ice ch 1 is helpful, as well as part of ch 5. pretty sure none of you actually care about that but i just thought i would mention it!!

Tonight, the squeak of the floorboards stirs Diana from her slumber. Usually it’s the door, or the mattress dipping from the weight of another body at its foot. Or maybe boots hitting the floor as Jerry kicks them off after a long day of rolling cigars. But tonight, it’s the floorboards and Diana awakens.

Diana wipes the first traces of sleep from her eyes and sits up, yawning, for her sleep didn’t last long. It never does when she dozes off before her husband returns home. The light of the moon, indirect but strong, streaming through their single window brightens the room just enough for her to find a match and ignite the candle at her bedside.

“Sorry to wake you up,” Jerry whispers, not looking her in the eye.

Diana shrugs. “There’s soup on the stove. It should be still warm.”

Nodding, Jerry sits down and unties his leather boots, a wedding gift. The only gift from his mother and father. It’s been a few years, though. Frequent use has worn the soles down, and walking through rain and snow damaged the leather more than a little. Diana suspects they won’t last to Spring. Once he pulls his boots and socks off and tucks them away to wear again in the morning, only a few short hours away, Jerry grabs a bowl and pours soup into it.

As he quickly gulps it down, he asks Diana, “Did you eat yet?”

“I did. You can have the rest of it, if you want.”

He stares at her for a moment. Only one side of his face is visible, but she knows concern when she sees it.

“I did eat,” she insists. “I know you like for me to wait for you, but it was so late.”

“I believe you,” Jerry says after a moment. He goes back to the soup and finishes his bowl, and then takes the rest from the pot. “Are you sure you don’t want more?”

Diana could eat more, probably. That’s usually the case these days. But Jerry must be on his feet all day at the cigar factory and barely gets fifteen minutes for his lunch break. He needs more than she does right now.

“I’m alright.”

While he eats, Diana reads him a letter she received from Minnie May earlier that day. Minnie May doesn’t say much, just mentions what she’s learning in school and rants about their mother. At thirteen, she is every bit as vivacious and stubborn as Anne had been at that age.

Jerry smiles and puts the bowl up as Diana reads a particularly lively account in which Minnie May turned an old set of curtains into trousers and tried to wear them to school, nearly giving Eliza Barry a heart attack.

Jerry strips off his day clothes in favour of a long nightshirt. “Sounds like something Anne would do.”

“I’m not convinced Anne wasn’t the inspiration for this particular endeavor.” Diana laughs, but stops in her tracks as she sees Jerry’s face clearly for the first time that evening, for covering his cheekbone and chin is a large scrape and bruise. Diana gasps. “Jerry, your face!”

His hand absentmindedly touches the spot, like he had forgotten it was even there. “Does it look that bad?”

Diana, up on her feet, directs him to sit on their bed so she can inspect the wound closer. “What happened? Does it hurt?”

Jerry shrugs. “I just slipped on some ice and fell this morning. Don’t worry about it.”

“It looks fresher than that.” Diana reaches out a finger to gently poke at his darkening skin. The pattern on the bruise almost looks like the bottom of a shoe.

Jerry hisses and flinches away at her touch.

“Sorry, sorry,” Diana says quietly, withdrawing her hand. “Stay here. I’m going to get some ice from outside.”

He nods, half of his mouth twitched up in an apologetic and pitiful smile. A few minutes later, she returns with a large chunk of ice wrapped in a napkin that was also a wedding gift, this one from Jerry’s sister Satine. Jerry sits against the wall, blanket pulled up to his waist and eyes drooping in exhaustion. Diana, ice in hand, crawls over to his side and carefully presses the ice to the injured side of his face. Jerry at first recoils when it makes contact, but eventually his breathing eases after a few seconds.

Close enough to feel the heat off his skin, Diana softly asks, “Better?”

Jerry nods and Diana sighs. Moments later, the ice has mostly melted so he reaches over to hang the damp cloth on the drying line. The blood from his face dyed the cloth a light red, but Diana will pick up some peroxide from the fancy stores on Sherbrooke Street when money is less tight.

Jerry blows out the candle. In the dim light from the moon and from the faint glow of the oven, where a few last embers provide what warmth they can give before inevitably burning out, smoke climbs towards the ceiling, dissipating the higher it gets. Letting out a great huff of air, Jerry settles down further down beneath the blankets. Diana, still atop the bedding, watches him.

“Coming?” Jerry asks, brow perked, expecting.

They have been married three years and yet their life feels new to her every day, like she expects to wake up to her childhood bedroom in Avonlea, the one that sometimes made her safe and warm but mostly trapped. The life her and Jerry have built here, in Montreal, was supposed to give her all the freedom in the world to be with the man she loves. And yet they only share the smallest moments of the day at the bookends of sleep. So she’ll savor any time with him that she has.

Diana gives Jerry a small smile. “Of course. I just wanted to look at you.”

As soon as she slides underneath the blanket, Jerry grabs Diana’s waist and pulls her close to him. “Hmph. You’re warm.”

“I’d imagine almost anything would feel warm after holding ice to your face in the dead of winter,” Diana says, threading one hand through his hair, careful not to disturb his injured cheekbone, and brings his face to hers for a soft kiss.

Jerry sighs in response, a low sound resonating from the base of his throat that paints a full picture of the day’s exhaustion. So Diana deepens the kiss as his hands make their way from her waist to her hips to what lies below. Not so long ago, such an action would have sent Diana reeling which is perhaps why his touch is so light. But now she doesn’t mind, tries not to mind, because she needs to be close to him.

Diana pushes Jerry over a little, so he now lies on his back, and moves on top of him. For a moment, he seems to have the same things in mind as she does, returning her kisses with equal fervour but as soon as she makes a move to unbutton the top of his nightshirt, Jerry grabs her wrist to stop her.

So he’s playing that game tonight. Maybe he is simply too tired to be in the mood. But she knows him too well, and they’ve gone through this too many times.

Diana frowns, moving her hand away. “What is it? Does your cheek hurt?”

"Diana." Jerry rubs at his uninjured eye and sighs. "The anniversary…"

He trails off as she rolls off of him and crosses her arms, dejected.

When she doesn't say anything, he continues, "We have to be careful."

Diana presses her lips into one tight line, sinking in deeper under the covers. Then she turns on her side to face away from Jerry. He tries to place a gentle hand on her forearm, but she shrugs it off.

"It's been a year. I'm better now, even more than I was before."

Jerry lets out a frustrated breath of air. "It's been only a year," he says. "Exactly a year."

She sighs. Pretends she doesn't have the same weight on her chest, that the feel of the air around her isn't the same as it was last January, when everything fell apart.

"I'm doing fine," she lies.

She expects him to resist more, to show the fiery, stubborn part of him that took no nonsense. But he only sighs again and says, “Let's go to bed, Diana," the sleep thick in his voice, a reminder of the effect the last twelve months has had on them both.

In the next few minutes, his arms find their way back around her waist and she doesn’t fight it. It’s a cold night. Jerry doesn’t let on to it in any discernible way but Diana knows they’re both falling asleep to the same images flashing across their eyelids, impossible to escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will be longer, and might be up at some point next week! thank you so much for reading and if you have any questions please leave a comment or reach out on tumblr! i'm @antspaul there as well :)


	2. Tuesday, January 11, 1906

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana runs into an old friend. She and Jerry have a discussion about a trip back to Prince Edward Island.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my endless gratitude to phoebe, gus, tessa, and jenna for your support :) 
> 
> light mentions of eating disorder recovery, but nothing too graphic. 
> 
> this chapter starts the parts that made me go turbo mode on the historical research of montreal during this period and uhhhh now i'm writing my thesis on it oops. knowing all i know now there are some minor historical inaccuracies but i tried my best and there shouldn't be anything too out of place!

Diana can so rarely afford the shops that line Sherbrooke Street. But, like her mother, nothing soothes her quite like being surrounded by shelves of expensive linens and other valuable merchandise. Maybe she walks out of the different boutiques empty-handed, but her shoulders aren’t so tense and the crease on her forehead has relaxed. She needs a bit of respite this week, when everything around Diana reminds her of painful mistakes and bitter past.

While she browses a small apothecary, Diana notes the price of peroxide for later. They ran out a few weeks ago, and there’s about eight different things (including the cloth from last night) lying around in their home to be cleaned. 

On her way out of Uptown, Diana stops by a small daily market to purchase a few things for the pantry. The wind, bitterly cold, nips her exposed face, neck, and fingertips, and pulls at her skirts like an impatient child. Only a few blocks away from the St. Lawrence, the market is full of fishermen hawking the day’s catch and farmers who travelled to the city centre before dawn. Diana purchases three smallmouth bass, the cheapest due to their prevalence in the river, and one walleye for supper on Sunday, along with as much fresh vegetables as the three coins in her purse can afford. She's extra careful to eat well and with a peaceful mind when she feels like this, when that ache in her chest won't go away and she's a degree away from the world in front of her. 

As Diana hands over her last coin in exchange for a few small potatoes dotted with eyes, a soft touch to her arm turns her around quickly to see a face she hadn’t expected. 

“Cole?”

“Diana!” Cole exclaims, a wide smile stretching his lips. 

Diana finishes business with the farmer as fast as she can, so she can pull Cole into a tight hug, which he gladly returns. 

“How wonderful to see you,” she says, moving them out of the way of the other shoppers in the market. “I didn’t know you were here in Montreal.”

Cole shrugs. There’s a blotch of green paint on the collar of his shirt. “The move— it was a recent thing. I wrote to Anne only last week for your address, but of course she’s yet to respond.”

“What serendipity,” Diana says. 

“Truly.”

Bells from the Notre-Dame Basilica ring twelve times, striking noon. Diana adjusts the basket more firmly between her hip and shoulder. 

“It would be a shame to part ways now, wouldn’t it?” Cole tucks his hands deeply into his thick winter jacket. “Say you’ll join me for tea, Diana.”

The first flurries of snow start to fall from the uninterrupted white sky. Diana considers the items in her basket— nothing that would spoil in the frigid weather— as well as the forty minute walk back to her place. 

“I suppose a bit of warm tea would be nice in this cold,” Diana replies. 

Cole offers her his arm, and walks her only a block away to a small apartment, around the size of her own but with much higher ceilings and big windows that must let in quite the draught. The large fireplace— a  _ real _ fireplace— makes up for it, for the air inside warms her skin. 

As Cole heats up the kettle, Diana takes in the decor of the place. On nearly every flat surface, save the table at which Cole sat her, are beautiful clay statues. Some are more true to life, while others bend reality in a way that gives the viewer more of an idea of the thing than a picture. Behind the sculptures, paintings in a similar style adorn the walls. Diana recognises many of them as Cole’s own hand, but a few here and there must be from other artists in Cole’s circle. 

Without any children in their house, Diana's days are lonely so it's nice to have someone distract her. Someone ignorant of what happened a year ago and won't remind Diana that it was all her fault. 

They mesmerise Diana, who spots a new detail with every passing second even as the kettle whistles and Cole pours the hot water into a teapot unmistakably belonging to Aunt Josephine. 

“Still here, Diana?” Cole asks, opening a tin can labelled  _ Chamomile _ . “Want any sugar?”

“No sugar, thank you,” answers Diana. A strange flash of guilt flushes through her and she must question her intentions. Does she not want sugar because of her disorder, or does she not want sugar because of personal preference? The latter, she decides. Ever since she was a little girl Diana has preferred her tea unsweetened. “I was just admiring the art. There’s just so much of it. How long have you been here again?”

“Almost two weeks,” Cole answers, then takes a slow sip of his own tea. “I’ve brought most of it from home, though. A few are gifts from friends. Does any of it strike your fancy? You could take one home, if you’d like.”

Diana puts up a hand. “Oh, I couldn’t—”

“It’s alright.” Cole stands. “I can always make another.”

“Really, I couldn’t. The smoke from the oven damages nearly everything. I wouldn’t want to ruin one of your beautiful paintings.”

“Oh. Alright then.” Cole sits back down. “Well, if you ever change your mind, I’m always glad to do it.”

Diana places a reassuring hand over Cole’s. “I know that. Thank you.”

Shrugging, Cole blows lightly on his tea, then sits up a little straighter as he says, “Oh, I meant to mention! I ran into one of Jerry’s brothers the other day. Gabriel.”

“How funny!” Diana chuckles. Then, after a beat, she tilts her head. “You could have asked him for our address.”

With an ungraceful snort, Cole rubs the back of his neck. “Ah, right.” He looks a little embarrassed. “I forgot to.”

“I’m just teasing. Anyway, Gabe is a sweetheart. Where did you run into him?” 

Diana takes a sip of tea. Cole says, “We have some mutual friends. In Montreal, I mean. Naturally we know of the same people from Avonlea.”

“Naturally,” Diana repeats, her lips quirked because she knows the types of people Cole is friends with.  _ “Mutual friends?” _

"We, uh, met at Moise Tellier's."

" _ Oh. _ "

Cole puts his hands up in surrender, giving Diana a look that tells her all she needs to know. “If anyone asks, I didn’t say a thing.”

“Noted.” Diana sips at her tea to hide the smile that tugs at her face, and takes a bit of a scone Cole made. The scone is rich and familiar, sweet but mostly savoury.

For a while, after her parents and Jerry finally convinced her to willingly go the doctor and her recovery officially began, Diana had difficulty going near sweet food, especially scones and tarts. They reminded her too much of the darkness, of hating everything about herself and drowning in desperation to change in the most dangerous way. When she forced one down her throat, Diana unwittingly found herself back on her knees with the contents of her stomach in front of her. Moments like that frustrated Diana to no end, where she wondered if she’d ever eat normally again. 

Ms. Rhodes always reassured Diana that she was still making progress, that sometimes rich food or food with negative associations could upset her stomach. It still troubled her, though. 

Diana encountered a lot of roadblocks. For her to sit here, right now, and effortlessly take a bite of a scone, is the result of months and years of constant hard work. But Diana never quite divulged all that happened to her to Cole. It wasn’t something she wanted to write about in a letter, and he wasn’t ever around long enough to warrant an explanation. 

So Diana just chews the bite of scone and tells Cole, “This is delicious, Cole.”

“Thank you, Diana.” Cole beams and gives a small bite at his own scone. “Do you recognise the recipe?”

Diana shrugs and breaks the scone in half to look at the inside and gauge the ingredients. She definitely tasted honey and some kind of candied fruit- dates?- and there are small green specks throughout the pastry. “It’s not one of Aunt Josephine’s recipes, is it?”

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Cole says, “You know as well as I do that Aunt Jo can’t cook. You’re close though. Rollings used to make them almost every week.”

“And the little specks of green?”

“Sage.”

“How interesting.” Diana chews another small bite. 

A memory weasels its way from the depths of her mind of the last time she visited Aunt Josephine in Charlottetown, which was right before she and Jerry moved to Montreal. Stoic and no-nonsense as usual, Aunt Josephine insisted on paying for a first-class journey to their new home because it would ease her mind. The small kindness made Diana question why they were moving so far away from their families. 

Diana sighs wistfully. “It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen Aunt Josephine and Rollings. I’ve missed them,” she says, before sipping her tea. 

“I understand that. Even the mere weeks I’ve spent away from home have been so hard.” 

“I felt the same way when we first moved here, too. Things get easier,” Diana promises. “I still miss Avonlea, of course, and everyone there, but now Montreal is my home, too.”

Cole looks down, a melancholy smile on his face. The window behind him exposes darkening clouds that dim the light on the walls, turning everything impossibly more grey. Still, the fireplace’s flames flicker and cast a warm orange glow on the left side of Cole. “The farther I get from Avonlea, the stranger I feel. As a child I never thought I’d get to leave. And now I’m here.”

“Now we’re here,” Diana echoes, gently placing her teacup back on its saucer. “I think about the same thing almost every day. If you’d told twelve year-old Diana that in ten years she’d be the Catholic wife of  _ Jerry Baynard _ —”

“—She’d probably ask who on earth Jerry Baynard is,” finishes Cole. They share a laugh and he sits up a little straighter, brightening. “I should stop commiserating, anyway, since we’re going to see everyone so soon.”

Diana purses her lips, averts her gaze. “Give them my love, won’t you?”

Fixing her with a puzzled look, Cole says, “You aren’t going to the soiree?”

“Ah, no.” Diana shrugs then offers, “I wish I could.”

The snow picks up behind Cole’s back, framing him in an unbroken slate of white. “Why not?”

His words almost come off accusatory, although surely Cole didn’t intend them to be that way, reminding Diana of a younger version of herself who didn’t fully understand the extent of her family’s wealth and privilege. The trueborn son of a typical Avonlea farmer, Cole should understood that a round trip from Montreal to Avonlea isn’t a journey Diana can make more than once a year. But Cole has matured with bountiful wealth at his fingertips after living for more than seven years with Aunt Josephine. Poverty is something he experienced, sure, once upon a time. But to be a poor adult entails a much deeper understanding of limitation than to be a poor child. 

A little irked, Diana says, “Well, Jerry has to work, and I didn’t want to travel by myself. I wouldn’t feel safe.”

Cole places his hands firmly on the table and leans towards Diana. “Then travel with me.”

“Cole…” Diana presses her back against her seat and sighs. “It’s expensive, and I already saw my family only a year ago.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’d more than gladly pay your fares.”

Diana huffs, incredulous but unsurprised at his contention. “Cole, you know I can’t accept that. I know how expensive it is for even regular passage to the Maritimes.”

“And  _ you _ know that Aunt Jo would about kill me if I didn’t insist. Come on, Diana, how often did we travel together to the soiree as children? It’ll be just like old times.”

A beat passes before Diana slumps in her seat and gives in. “Alright. I suppose I can talk to Jerry about it.” She gives Cole a small smile. “I’ve already told Anne I can’t go. She and my family would be awfully surprised.”

Cole leans back and takes a long, smug sip of his tea. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

~

Later that night Jerry comes home earlier than he did the night before. Snow weighs down his hair and jacket from the flurries that still fall outside. His long walk home from the factory in the frigid, damp dark must have been brutal but at least he made it home in one piece and Diana can put warm soup in his belly and hang his wet coats to dry over the fire. 

Exhausted and almost frozen, Jerry doesn’t exchange many words with his wife until he puts on dry clothes and sits down at their small wooden table, hot bowl of a creamy broth with hearty rice and onions. Diana plants a kiss on the top of his head and sits down next to him. 

As Jerry eagerly spoons soup into his mouth, Diana asks, “How was your day?”

Jerry shrugs and puts his spoon down for a brief moment. “It was okay.”

“How is everyone at the factory? I feel like I haven’t heard about them in a while.”

“They’re fine, I guess.”

Her mind on their conversation the night before, Diana chooses her words carefully and evenly asks, “Is Sidney back to work yet?” 

Jerry’s eyes quickly move to her face and then, just as fast, to the bowl in front of him. He didn’t expect her to bring that up, she can tell. 

He clears his throat. “Uh, he never left.”

“That must have been so hard for him.” Diana sighs sadly and tries not to empathise too much with the unfortunate situation of Sidney Byrne and his wife. She has her own emotion connections to what happened but it’s not as hard as it would have been not so many months ago but peripheral tragedy has become commonplace. “Maybe I should make something for him and Rose.” 

They don’t have much to give, but surely some sort of casserole could be thrown together to bring to the Byrnes before she left. 

Jerry places his hand over Diana’s and squeezes lightly, sending a small smile her way before finishing the last few bites of his supper. Small smiles like that settle deep down in her heart and give her a warmness that makes her feel sixteen again. 

“Your day, it was good too?” Jerry asks her. 

Diana pushes a lock of hair behind her ear. “A little slow perhaps, at least at first. Priscilla Moore cancelled her piano lessons this week. Did I tell you that?”

Jerry shrugs. 

“Well, since I had the afternoon free I went to the shops on Sherbrooke around midday.” Noting his disapproving expression, Diana continues, “Don’t look at me like that. I only bought a few fish from the docks, and some vegetables too at that market. We barely had anything in the pantry.”

Jerry raises his hands in concession. “I didn’t say anything.”

Shaking her head in good-natured scorn, Diana says, “Anyway, you’ll never guess who I ran into while I was there.”

“What, you want me to guess?” Jerry asks after a beat. “Okay, Gabe.”

Diana gives a small laugh because he’s closer than he thinks. “Gabe may have tastes above any of our stations, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him on Sherbrooke.”

“He went there before,” Jerry insists, standing for a moment to place his soup bowl among the small stack of dishes that must be taken to the communal sink to wash. He sits back down next to his wife. “Last time we saw him he had those fancy gold buttons.”

Diana thinks back to their supper a few weeks ago with Jerry’s sister Corinne, her husband, children, and Gabe. Gabe did wear clothes a lot nicer than she was used to, including a hefty jacket with clean embroidery and white buttons outlined in what looked like gold pleat. At the time, she had briefly wondered where on earth he’d come across such nice things, but hadn’t put much thought into it. 

“Well, maybe so. But anyways that is not who I saw. You remember Cole Mackenzie?”

Jerry tilts his head, brow furrowed. “From Charlottetown?”

“The very one,” Diana confirms with a nod. 

“He is in Montreal?”

“Cole lives here now. It’s a recent thing, according to him. I was just as surprised as you are.” 

Diana can’t quite make out Jerry’s reaction, although she doesn’t think he feels very strongly either way about her childhood friend. Cole and Jerry met a number of times throughout the years, markedly when Diana would bring Jerry to events in Charlottetown, but she can’t recall any extensive conversation between the two of them. 

“He is doing alright?” Jerry asks. 

“He is, I suppose.” 

A gust of wind hits their window just so for a draft to be felt in the room, making them both shiver. 

“I’ll put on some tea,” Diana says. She scoots her chair back and stands up, grabbing the kettle as she approaches the stove. Once the kettle, filled with water, sits on the burner waiting to boil, Diana remarks, “You know, it’s funny you guessed Gabe earlier. Cole mentioned at lunch today that they ran into each other recently.” She turns around from the stove, leaning on the edge of the counter to bide her time until the kettle whistles. “Apparently they run in the same circles here.” 

Diana grabs two jars of tea leaves from the small bookcase that holds their spices and baking goods, holding them out to her husband for him to choose. 

Jerry points to the jar in her left hand, a standard white tea given to them by Eliza Barry last time Diana was in Avonlea. Less than a third of the jar remains. Jerry says, deadpan, “Next time Cole Mackenzie sees my brother, he should tell him to show up to family supper before Corinne thinks something bad happened to him.” 

Diana scoffs as the kettle whistles and she scoops two spoonfuls of tea into the teapot, pouring the hot water over it. “I was trying to imagine if they would have had a reason to know one another back home, but I can’t think of one.”

After a moment of steeping, the tea is ready and she fills up two teacups, placing one in front of Jerry and one in front of her own seat. They each take a slow sip of the warm drink, which does a little to calm the goosebumps on her arms. 

“Sometimes he played violin for the rich people’s parties in Charlottetown,” Jerry tells her when a few minutes have passed. The snow outside has slowed down a little bit, and his hair looks almost dry now. “I don’t know besides that.”

“They could have met almost anywhere. Avonlea was so small,” Diana points out. “Maybe when Cole still lived at his family’s farm, he took something to your father’s shop.” 

Jerry considers this. “Gabe didn’t like to be in the shop a lot.”

“I suppose I just miss living in a place where I could go almost anywhere and find a familiar face,” Diana laments, sighing softly into her cup. “Do you ever feel like that?”

“You always go more places than me.” Jerry shrugs, reminding Diana of the many places back in Avonlea that her husband, a poor French boy, was not welcome in. But then he meets her eyes and grabs her hand keenly, planting a kiss on her palm. “You miss Avonlea, I know. We’ll go back one day.” He lets go. “Now, we go to bed, okay?”

She nods and they both stand. Jerry finishes his tea and places both of their cups on the counter to use again in the morning while Diana takes off her stockings and untucks the blankets on their so they can easily slip underneath. 

Diana crawls beneath the covers and, while she waits for Jerry to join her, says, “Speaking of going back to Avonlea… I need to talk to you about something.” 

Jerry, halfway to their bed, stops in his tracks with a startled expression on his face. “Is it—?”

She shakes her head and waves his concern away with her hands. “Oh, no! Not that. I’m doing fine with that. I was telling the truth last night, I promise.”

He visibly relaxes and crawls in next to her. They both sit up, legs covered by blanket but not quite ready to sleep yet. In a moment maybe Diana will read aloud from a book or a few verses from the Bible but right now she leans into him, other things on her mind. His arm instinctively wraps around her, pulling Diana closer, tighter to his side. 

“Tell me,” he says gently.

She’s a little nervous to ask if she should go, not because she doesn’t trust Jerry but because her mother drilled it into her mind early on that to show others that she wants things is a weakness, and no matter how much better she gets her mother will still be in the back of her mind, reminding her that the life Diana’s forged for herself goes against everything she was ever taught. 

Diana swallows her anxiety, acknowledging it but letting it pass like Ms. Rhodes always instructed her to do, and says, “Remember when Anne wrote to us a while ago about the soiree next week?” 

Jerry nods.

“Well, when I ran into Cole today he talked about his plans to go back for the party,” Diana continues, fingers playing with a fraying seam on the quilt. “And, well, he invited me along.”

Jerry stays quiet for a moment. Then he remarks quietly, “I just don’t know if we have the money, Diana.”

He doesn’t sound mad. She didn’t think he would. Instead Jerry’s flat, even tone portrays disappointment and Diana knows it hurts him, to not be able to provide the kind of life of luxury she grew up accustomed to, no matter how many times she’s assured him she knew exactly what she was getting into when she married him. 

Diana grabs his palm and meet his eyes. “Well, that’s the thing. Cole offered to pay for everything.” Jerry opens his mouth to protest, but Diana cuts him off. “I know, I know. But it’s really Aunt Josephine’s money anyway, isn’t it? And you know just as well as I do that she would insist if she were here.” She squeezes his palm, shooting him a small smile. “I’d really like to see everyone again, especially Anne. I didn’t get to see her last time, and well, this time it would be under better circumstances, wouldn’t it?”

Jerry sighs and releases her hand. Diana fears the worst but then he gently touches her jaw and places his lips to hers in a soft kiss. “I’m just going to miss you when you’re gone,” he says. 

Diana’s eyes brighten and she throws her arms around his neck. “You have no idea how happy you’ve made me.”

“I think I do.” He feigns choking and she releases her arms, laughing. “If I thought it was a bad idea, I still couldn’t stop you going.”

Sometimes Jerry sees the world much more simply than Diana does. 

“When will you leave?”

“Friday night,” Diana answers. She then goes into a little more detail about their plans as Cole explained it to her. Jerry is more than receptive, and she wonders why she would ever think to doubt him at all. 

(Although, she’s reminded once again when, after a while spent reading a passage from Genesis, he kisses her forehead goodnight and rolls over without preamble, that his trust for her only goes so far.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for reading! again, my tumblr is @antspaul so please bother me there! any feedback i receive puts a huge smile on my face :)


	3. Saturday, January 15, 1906

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana and Cole travel to Charlottetown for the soiree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, all my love to phoebe, gus, jenna, and tessa :) you all are the best and keep me writing!
> 
> no major warnings for this chapter, just the usual light mentions of past disordered eating and some mentions of recovery. 
> 
> i hope you enjoy!

Prince Edward Island this time of year is just as cold as Montreal, colder even, but something about the air feels lighter, crisper than in the big city. Diana barely acknowledges the bite of winter’s breeze against her cheeks as she walks down the streets of Charlottetown, holding onto Cole’s arm as they head towards the inn where all of Aunt Josephine’s guests traditionally stay. Cole sent a telegraph to change his reservation from one room to two when they made it to the train station in Montreal, the ease of which never fails to impress Diana. Technology has advanced so far since she had the money to use it. 

Her and Jerry’s farewell had been sweet and short. Never one to cry or become emotional, Jerry just hugged her tightly and made her swear she’d be careful. Diana smiled and told him that she would. Diana hopes he’ll be able to manage alright by himself as Jerry’s never really been alone before. Just to make sure, Diana asked his sister Corinne to look in on him once or twice within the week she’ll be gone to make sure he’s doing okay. 

Aunt Josephine’s soiree, though it still occurs yearly and attracts any number of the women’s eccentric and well-to-do friends, has almost become too much for her to handle and its planning this year fell primarily on Anne, who was more than happy to step into the role despite her busy schedule. That was why Anne wanted Diana so badly to come for the soiree, and why Diana felt so sad when she thought she couldn’t go. 

A smile creeps onto her lips as she thinks about how Anne will react. 

Cole and Diana walk into the hotel, a beautiful place Diana has only ever passed by since her family always stayed with Aunt Josephine when they were in town. After checking in with a very cordial man who only really acknowledges Diana when he realises they have two separate rooms booked, Diana and Cole head up a red-carpeted staircase towards their suites. 

Cole drops his suitcase off in his room and then returns to Diana’s to give her company while she unpacks her own. 

“I meant to ask,” Diana says, pulling a corset from her carpet bag that surely dates back at least six years. “Why aren’t you staying with Aunt Josephine?”

“Why aren’t you staying with your own parents?” Cole shoots back from his perch on her bed. He’s never been able to keep his feet on the ground for very long. “Well, you know how loud Aunt Jo’s parties can be, and how long they last. If I have the chance to  _ not  _ awake to some drunk man dressed as a sheep stumbling into my room at four in the morning, I’ll take it.”

“I thought he was dressed as a butterfly.”

“It happened twice. Also, I’ve heard that Anne is planning for a lot of roses and they make me sneeze.” 

Diana laughs. “Oh, no. Will you fare alright for the soiree?”

“I’m sure I’ll be just fine for most of the night, but I’d rather not sleep in all of that pollen.” Cole rubs his nose as if in anticipation of future irritation there. “I suppose your family still doesn’t know you’re in town.” 

“They don’t,” confirms Diana, neatly stacking two pairs of stockings in the small chest of drawers next to her bed. “I thought about sending a telegram earlier, but I decided not to. Somehow I doubt I’ll even see them.”

Unbuttoning the bottom of his jacket, Cole lays back on her bed and lets out a huge breath of air. Diana sympathises. As thrilling as travel can be, it’s also tedious and draining and the exhaustion has long settled into her bones even though it’s mid-afternoon. “They haven’t come for the last few, I don’t think. At least I don’t remember them being there, but that may have been the wine.” Wine that for a while wasn’t at Aunt Jo’s soirees but has recently reemerged. “I’ve heard Minnie May might come, though.” 

“Maybe so. She’s been giving my mother quite the headache as of late. I’d imagine they would be glad for the break,” Diana says. She sits on her bed, near Cole’s head, and begins to unlace her boots, slipping them off and to the side of the chest of drawers. 

“Someone should thank her.” 

Diana pulls her legs up onto the mattress and scoots back so that her back rests against the headboard. “I have been, let me assure you.”

They laugh. She thinks about how miffed her mother was when Anne Shirley-Cuthbert took the Avonlea teaching position instead of Gilbert Blythe, and how excited Minnie May was to be in her class. It reminds her of something she wanted to ask Cole.

“Say, have you had any word from Gilbert Blythe recently?”

The question brings Cole almost upright as he chuckles. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll make an appearance, whether Anne likes it or not.”

“Is she continuing with that childish nonsense still?” Diana asks, nearly rolling her eyes. “I had hoped Anne was over it. Last I heard she and Gilbert were friends.”

Cole feigns nonchalance, raising an eyebrow and inspecting a fingernail as he says, “Well, I’d imagine he’s been pretty sore since Anna turned his proposal down.”

Diana gives a gasp, the kind only warranted by the most colourful gossip. “He asked Anne to marry him? Oh, poor Gilbert. No wonder Anne ignored me everytime I asked about him in my letters.”

“I reckon she’s still as much in love with him as ever,” Cole says, a sly grin tugging the sides of his mouth. 

“Quite,” Diana says. “Would you like some help unpacking your things?”

“I think I’ll just keep my clothes in their bags,” Cole replies. With a grunt, he hoists himself upright and slips his arms back into his coat, and then kisses her on the cheek. “I’m going to rest my eyes before supper. See you then?”

Diana nods. “See you then.” 

The next morning Cole and Diana stroll arm-in-arm down the neat streets of Charlottetown to Aunt Josephine’s brightly-lit manor house. Warmth blooms in Diana’s chest when the house’s facade is finally in view. This house, where she spent so many hours with her eccentric Aunt and best friends, remains one of the last places untouched by the hardships of Diana’s more recent past. 

She and Jerry had their wedding reception here. Aunt Josephine had decked the walls and ceilings in so many flowers that Jerry had picked petals out of her hair all night. She laughed every time he did it. 

Diana is reminded of this as she and Cole step across the threshold and the smell of roses hits their noses immediately. For a moment, no one greets them, likely because so many people have been coming in and going out of Aunt Jo’s house all morning in preparation for the soiree that begins in only a few short hours. A few more sets of footsteps aren’t cause for attention. 

As she and Cole wait in the foyer, Diana takes in the elaborate decorations around her and wonders how on earth Aunt Josephine managed to procure so many flowers in the middle of January, and how much something like that could have cost.

Before she has the chance to really consider price, she hears an anxious high-pitched voice muttering something frantic, accompanied by the tapping of shoes descending the staircase behind them at such a pace that they could only really belong to one person. Diana and Cole turn around just in time to see Anne Shirley-Cuthbert reach the last step. 

It only takes a small smile on Diana’s part and then they are thirteen again, squealing like little girls as they run towards each other for a tight embrace.

Anne’s voice sounds near to tears as she exclaims, “Diana! What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for the soiree, of course,” Diana jokes into Anne’s hair, where’s she stuck since Anne’s grip on her waist is unrelenting. 

“You said you couldn’t come!” 

From behind them, Cole laughs. “Anne, I think you’re choking Diana.”

“Oh!” Anne releases her friend, only rush over to Cole and lock him in an embrace of equal fervour. “Cole McKenzie, I missed you.”

“Missed you too, Anne. And it’s only been three weeks.”

“Three weeks too long,” Anne replies, her voice thin. A single tear escapes her eyes, which she quickly wipes away. Anne has never been skilled at hiding her emotions, and she always feels everything with her whole heart, even if she has mellowed a bit since they were girls. “Come on, you two, let’s go sit and you can tell me everything.”

She leads Diana and Cole into Aunt Josephine’s sitting room. As they each choose a chair, Diana asks Anne, “How is the planning going?”

“For the soiree? As well as could be expected, I suppose. Do you know how difficult it is to find thousands of roses in the middle of winter?” With a wave of her hand, Anne changes the subject. “Anyway, we can discuss that later. Diana, I’m absolutely dying to know how you managed to make it here! Last time you wrote you said you couldn’t.”

Diana says, “I really thought I wouldn’t be able to come, honest. Jerry… well, he works a lot, you know. We both agreed that it wouldn’t be safe for me to travel all this way by myself.”

She leaves out the part where travelling anywhere is a virtual impossibility for her and her husband for the simple reason that they still want to eat everyday and afford matches for the stove. She doesn’t mention that they eat broth soup almost every night for supper, or that the blanket they sleep under at night is patchy at the ends from where she’s cut off pieces to cover the holes in Jerry’s three pairs of long pants that must keep him warm enough through winter. She doesn’t mention that their situation is much worse now than it was a year and a half ago, and that it’s all her fault. Anne is smart; she must have an inkling of what Diana and Jerry go through. But what Diana doesn’t mention won’t hurt Anne. 

“But I ran into Cole the other day, and he insisted that I come.”

Diana and Cole exchange a smile. 

“Well, I’m sure glad you did,” Anne says seriously, the twinkle still in her eyes. “The guests will start arriving soon and there’s much to do. Let’s go!”

And that’s just Anne and her boundless energy, her eyes always on her dreams and what comes next. But, of course, Cole and Diana and more than happy to assist their friend in whichever way they can. 

Anne sends Cole to help put the final touches on the decorations in the Great Room with one of Anne’s friends from school, Priscilla Grant. Diana stays with Anne, following her as she darts from floor to floor, door to door, checklist in hand and marking off each task done and circling those yet to be completed. As willing as she is to provide all the moral support in the world, Diana still feels a little useless. 

“Is there anything more helpful that I could be doing right now?” Diana asks after they check what seems to be the thirtieth table’s place settings. “You look tired.” 

Anna pauses for barely a second. “I am quite tired, my dear Diana,” she says, already moving on to the next table, “But only because tonight must be perfect in every way. Aunt Josephine graciously trusted me to plan her soiree and I refuse to let her or anyone else down.”

Diana struggles to keep up with her friend. “And you’ve done a marvellous job, Anne, really. I just hope you get to enjoy your hard work tonight.” Diana makes a desperate reach for Anne’s arm and forces Anne to stop. “How many more nights like this will we get to spend together?”

When Diana drops Anne’s arm, she thankfully stays still. 

“You’re right, of course,” Anne says, “And I will slow down, I swear it, once I check off everything on my list.”

Diana laughs but isn’t surprised. “Alright, well, at least let me help you more than I was. What’s next on the list?”

Anne reluctantly sends Diana to check on the food as it arrives in the kitchen while Anne herself prepares to greet the musicians, a string quartet from Paris. Once Diana has double- and triple-checked that all of the food is there for good measure, she joins Cole and Priscilla in the Great Room to finish the decorations. 

Cole and Priscilla have run into a bit of a complication with a string of flowers that fell from the ceiling, a problem easily resolved with the combined efforts of three people upon Diana’s arrival. They hang the string back up and tuck the ladders away just in time for Anne, followed by four beautiful women carrying large black cases, enters the room. 

“We’ve already set up in that corner,” Anne tells the women musicians, pointing to four chairs that face each other two-by-two right next to the Great Room’s fireplace which already warms the house with its crackling flames. 

The women nod, thank Anne, and head towards the chairs. Anne exhales and consults her clipboard, making small motions with her hands as she wordlessly surveys the room. 

Diana approaches Anne and places a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Everything looks wonderful, Anne,” Diana reassures her. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

“You really think so?”

“We know so,” Cole says, his hands full of flowers. His fingers work to fasten a line of flowers together in a crown, which he promptly places upon Anne’s hair. 

Anne smiles and blushes, and Diana can tell she’s still nervous, although Diana suspects Anne concerns herself more with one guest in particular more than Aunt Josephine or any of the strangers who will soon fill these halls. 

“The guests will be arriving soon,” Diana says. 

Anne takes a deep breath, and adopts a look of poised sophistication, with her shoulders back and head held high. “Of course, and I must go greet them.” A sheepish smile makes its way onto Anne’s face, breaking the front momentarily. “You’ll come with me, won’t you?” 

Cole and Diana nod earnestly. 

“You needn’t even ask,” Cole says. 

They said this kind of thing as children, when the world was still very large and at their fingertips, before three wide-eyed children turned to adults with responsibilities and much less time. And while it feels like a farce, like make-believe, Diana will let herself be young again, if just for tonight. 

~

From the time the first guest rings the buzzer, alerting the whole house of their arrival, the door stays mostly open as a steady flow of Aunt Josephine’s closest three hundred friends trickles inside. A slight draft wafts in from the snow-lined streets, but the warmth of mingling, close bodies and the multiple lit fireplaces keep the house cozy and far from cold. 

By six o’clock in the evening, most of the visitors have arrived (including Minnie May, who nearly tackles Diana when she sees her), and many were two or three drinks in already even though supper is still an hour away. 

Diana manages to drag Anne away from her self-imposed duties to dance for a song or two, though every minute Anne’s eyes drift towards the front door like she’s expecting someone. 

“I’m sure Gilbert will show up soon,” Diana says after twirling Anne around. 

Her words jolt Anne from her thoughts. “What? Who said anything about Gilbert Blythe?”

“No one. I just know you too well.”

Anne dips Diana back. “Perhaps I was simply trying to keep a reticent eye on the party.”

“You  _ did  _ invite him though, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Anne admits, her gaze wandering up towards the ceiling, “extend an invitation his way.”

“And he said he would come?”

“Well, he said he didn’t know.”

Diana smiles smugly when she says, “Was this before or after you turned down his proposal?”

Anne stops dancing in shock, causing a short-haired woman dressed in bright green velvet from the veil on her head to the shoes on her feet to bump into the pair. 

“I’m terribly sorry,” Diana tells the women, pulling herself and Anne out of the way of the dancers. 

The women shrugs and throws her head back in laughter. Clearly she’s too drunk to care, which reflects well on Anne’s party planning skills. 

Anne grabs Diana’s hands and says quietly, “Who told you that Gilbert proposed?”

“What matters more, Anne, is why I had to hear from anyone else at all.”

Sighing dramatically, Anne looks Diana into the eyes and says, “I was going to tell you, know that I was, but I couldn’t find the words.”

“Anne, wordless? Very likely.”

Anne flounders. “I meant in writing. I mean, goodness,  _ Gilbert Blythe _ .”

“Why did you say no?”

“Oh, Diana, it was so humiliating!”

Then she launches into the tale, describing Gilbert’s confession that he had loved her for years, and Anne’s refusal on the basis that she didn’t love Gilbert back. 

At that, Diana almost smacks Anne. “What are you saying, you don’t love Gilbert back?”

“I don’t!” Anne insists. “Or, I didn’t think I did, at the time.”

Diana sighs, apprehensive. “You’re as gone on him as Ruby Gilis was when we were girls. You were gone on him then, too.”

To her credit, Anne doesn’t deny this, and instead groans. “I just don’t know how to feel about all of this. Gilbert and I are such good friends now– at least we were before– and I couldn’t bare to lose him.” 

For a brief moment, Anne looks thoroughly exhausted, more than she has all day. Diana wonders if perhaps Anne has been immersing herself in planning the soiree to distract herself from matters of the heart. 

“Perhaps I already did,” Anna says sadly, deflating. 

Behind Anne’s head, the front door opens but she’s too deep in her emotions to look back. 

“Oh, Anne,” Diana laments, placing a caring hand over her friend’s, “How dramatic you can be. I know for a fact Gilbert Blythe still cares for you.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Well…” Diana trails off, then motions with a finger for Anne to turn around. 

Standing in the doorway, looking around at the rows and rows of flowers that line the ceiling, is Gilbert Blythe in the flesh. 

Anne’s eyes light up at the sight of him. “Gilbert!” she exclaims, even though he’s still yards away and a crowd of dancing party guests separates them. 

Gilbert notices right away and beelines towards them, dodging limbs and costume pieces as he approaches. “Hello, Anne,” he says finally. 

“Hello, Gilbert.”

Anne and Gilbert stare at each other for a second too long before Diana clears her throat softly. “Um, hello, Gilbert,” she says to break the silence. 

Gilbert blinks like he just noticed Diana’s presence. “Diana Barry!” 

“Baynard,” she corrects him. 

Smiling, he chuckles. “Oh course, Mrs. Baynard. I’m glad to see you’re well.”

“The same to you.” Diana sends a small grin back his way. 

As Gilbert asks Anne to dance and she accepts too quickly to be subtle, Diana wonders if he’s thinking about the last time Diana and Gilbert saw each other. 

Sometimes Diana forgets that less than a year has passed since her last trip to Prince Edward Island. The last time she went to Avonlea was less of a holiday than a hospital visit, and hardly anyone knew of her arrival. Not even Anne, away at school, heard until Diana had already left. 

(Anne certainly made her displeasure known in a letter. It’s why Diana wasn’t so mad at Anne for keeping Gilbert’s proposal to herself.)

When Diana found herself back in Charlottetown in Dr. Ward’s office per her psychiatrist’s orders, she told the secretary that she didn’t mind if the doctor’s intern sat in on her appointment. She’d seen so many doctors over the years. What was one more? She didn’t expect to see Gilbert Blythe walk into the examination room. It made sense, of course; she knew Gilbert had interned for Dr. Ward for years, ever since he returned from sea at age fifteen. 

Gilbert, bless him, pretended they had never met and introduced himself to her before moving to the corner of the room, where he quietly took notes. Dr. Ward weighed her, questioned her, and inspected every inch of her body, even the most private parts of her, but Gilbert didn’t say a word. Diana left after an hour or so, and except for the loaded look they shared as she left the examination room, Gilbert barely reacted to seeing her. 

Diana has wondered, since then, what he thought of the whole thing. Right now Gilbert knows things about her that only her husband, parents, and doctors know. 

But tonight, of course, Gilbert makes no mention of this as he whisks Anne onto the dance floor. Anne barely maintains a calm expression. The music changes to something a bit slower and Diana has to hold back her laughter when Gilbert brings Anne close and Anne adopts an expression of unabashed shock. 

Gilbert handles her with a suave grace, though, and soon Anne is laughing and comfortable, especially when the string quartet starts a new, livelier song. 

Diana’s eyes start to sting a few bars in, when she recognises the tune: the Sleeping Beauty Waltz. The song is a popular one, performed often. But this specific arrangement… the viola holds the melody, an unusual choice by the arranger. She remembers thinking the same thing when she and Jerry danced to it at their own wedding. While only two days have passed since Diana left Montreal, she misses Jerry badly.

Aunt Josephine, cane in hand, walks into the Great Room, escorted by Minnie May. Diana has had precious few minutes to spend with the actual members of her family since she arrived in Charlottetown, and she leaves tomorrow morning, so she thinks it appropriate to approach her aunt and sister. At nearly fourteen, Minnie May (along with her accomplice, Ralph Andrews) had taken up the role of rousing chaos in Avonlea, a fact that endlessly infuriated Eliza Barry and amused Diana. Anne finds it delightful, but of course she no longer teaches at the school to be subject to their torment. 

Minnie May is staying with Aunt Josephine for the soiree, and was only absent because she and Aunt Jo left for the morning and afternoon to give Anne space to do what she needed to. Minnie May’s skirt is streaked with mud and the bottom hem is soaked in what was once snow. She doesn’t seem to care, only squeals and embraces Diana. 

“I hope you’re having fun,” Diana says. 

Minnie May nods. “Best one of these I’ve ever been to. Especially since Mother and Father aren’t here.”

Diana and Aunt Josephine both laugh at that one because, well, it’s true, no matter how much they love William and Eliza Barry. 

“Minne May and that Ralph boy have already had their share of adventures,” Aunt Josephine says, a twinkle in her eye. 

“Oh heavens, Ralph Andrews is here?” Diana chuckles. “I hope Anne knows that.”

“She knows,” Minnie May replies deviously. “I’ll see you later, sister. I’m going to go find Ralph.”

Minnie May speeds off, darting in between dancing people and heading towards the staircase. 

“I hope she hasn’t caused you too much trouble,” Diana tells Aunt Josephine as she offers the older woman her arm and leads her over to an empty pair of padded chairs. 

They sit down and Aunt Josephine waves Diana’s comment away with her hand. “Oh, nonsense, child. Your sister isn’t nearly the first rambunctious child we’ve hosted and she certainly won’t be the last.”

Diana smiles. “That’s nice to hear, I suppose.” She gazes out into the crowd of people in front of them. “Anne did marvellously with the planning, don’t you think?”

“It’s beyond what I could have expected,” Aunt Josephine says. “My Gertrude would have been very impressed.”

Aunt Josephine, at the mention of her late partner, gets a faraway look about her. 

“You miss her,” Diana needlessly observes. 

After a moment, Aunt Josephine nods, smiling although her eyes are glassy. “Of course. I’ll always miss her. When you love someone, you’ll always miss them when you’re apart. Like you and that husband of yours, I’m sure.”

Diana admits, “I miss him so much I can barely stand it. And I feel so silly for it. I’ve been gone barely two days.”

Aunt Josephine chuckles warmly and reaches out to grab Diana’s hand. “The people you love become a part of you. When they’re gone—truly gone— they find a way to live on still. For example, look around you. Gertrude isn’t here, but she is, isn’t she? She lives on.”

Diana nods, only halfway understanding but willing to listen nonetheless. 

“You’ll see your Jerry soon enough,” Aunt Josephine says, then gives a loud, unexpected laugh. 

“What is it?” Diana asks. 

Aunt Josephine shakes her head. “Oh, nothing really. I was just thinking about the first time I met him. He was a scrawny little thing, with his face all scuffed up from a fight.”

“Was that when he and Anne went to Charlottetown to sell all of the Cuthbert’s silver?”

“The very same. The poor boy was so surprised we allowed him to sleep in one of the bedrooms upstairs. He thought we would leave him to sleep in the stables with the horse.” Aunt Josephine scoffs. “In the middle of winter, no less.”

Diana thinks of how Jerry grew up, sharing one bed with his four younger sisters. “He never presumes anything about anyone,” she tells Aunt Josephine. She loves him for that.

“A good quality to have.” Aunt Josephine squeezes Diana’s hand. “You’ve given up so much to be with the one you love.”

She shrugs. “So did you.”

“We have this in common.” Aunt Josephine gives a hearty laugh that quickly turns into a cough. Diana moves to help her but the other woman waves her away. “Oh, don’t mind me. Just a bit of a winter cold. I wanted to give you something.”

Aunt Jo pulls a small glass jar from her pocket. “Here you go.”

Diana takes the jar, reading the label out loud. “Candied apricots.” She smiles at her aunt. “How exotic!”

“They were my Gertrude’s favorite sweet to find when we visited Turkey.”

“I didn’t know you went there.”

“Oh sure, in our younger and more lithe years.” Aunt Josephine winks at Diana. “Take these and think of your old aunt when you eat them, would you? Remember you still have family on the Island who love you.”

Diana nods vigorously. “I will. Thank you!”

“You’re very welcome,” Aunt Josephine says before nudging Diana in the back towards the dance floor. “My darling niece, why are you sitting here with an old curmudgeon like me? You’re young! Go dance and have fun before you look like your aunt.”

So Diana does. She, Cole, and Minnie May (as Anne is occupied with Gilbert) dance and laugh all night long. These are some of the people she loves most in the world, and the night is well spent. Anne joins them towards the end of the evening, dragging Gilbert along, and once Minnie May is asleep in bed, the four old friends chat for hours. Diana can barely imagine a happier time. 

Still, the next day when she and Cole board the train that will take them far away from Charlottetown, and then all of Prince Edward Island, Diana is glad to be going home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so in the spirit of my thesis research, how would y'all feel about me dropping some random historical knowledge in the notes?? 
> 
> cole and diana's trip off of the island of montreal back to PEI had me thinking about railroads and bridges. the bridge they would have taken to get off the island was called the Victoria bridge, and it was completed in 1859. before this bridge, there was no consistent way to get off the island. the only two options were either to ride a ferry across the St. Lawrence River during the summer and during the winter, the railroad companies would place train tracks over the iced river. the more you know!!
> 
> anyways, thank you for reading! i'm @antspaul on tumblr, so hmu if you'd like to chat! i'll see you all next week :)


	4. Tuesday, January 18, 1906

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no major ed warnings for this chapter. implied sexual content i guess? nothing major 
> 
> all my love to phoebe, gus, and jenna :) yall are the best

Cole and Diana part ways once they finally reach Montreal with a firm hug and promises to meet for tea a few times a month. Diana sighs, thinking fondly back on the last few days, and makes her way through the depot west towards Saint-Henri. The Grand Trunk has a depot in Saint-Henri, but it would have cost Cole more and she already felt bad enough having him pay for everything that she spared him a few cents when she could.

As she moves closer to the door, though, Diana wonders why she didn’t just have Cole pay the extra money anyway because after a few days of warm train carriages she somehow forgot how cold it is outside. The station is busy, and people move in and out of it at a rapid pace, so the doors stay open, letting the heat out. 

Before she makes it outdoors, though, someone tugs at her sleeve. Diana spins around, defensive, already prepared to defend herself against a harassing man or rowdy child. She sees neither of those, however, when she turns around; instead, it’s her sister-in-law Corinne with her youngest daughter Evangeline at her side.

Diana smiles. “Corinne! You gave me quite a fright.”

Corinne absentmindedly apologizes then says, “My brother told me this was when your train came in. I thought I would walk you home.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Diana says politely, watching as Evangeline bends down to pick up a pebble from the ground. She’s a curious child, that one, with her head in the clouds, even for her young age of six. 

She threads her arm through Corinne’s and the two women leave the station into the frigid afternoon air, only slightly warmer than the morning. But Corinne wraps her thick shawl around Diana’s shoulders, too, and walks at such a brisk pace that she works up a sweat. Every few minutes that they make their way through the streets of Montreal towards Saint-Henri, Evangeline wanders off and Corinne must grabs her arm before she goes too far. 

Corinne was the first of Jerry’s family to move to Montreal, which she did at age twenty. As a girl, Corinne worked for the same seamstress who currently employs Chloe, which gave Corinne the skills to move to the city, with its bustling streets, by herself at a young age and maintain her independence. Diana doesn’t know how exactly Corinne met her husband Edgar, who is the floor supervisor at the cigar factory, but they married only a month after Corinne turned 21. Corinne is easily the wealthiest of any of her siblings, or anyone she is directly related to by blood. Sometimes her attitude reflects one of a woman born into wealth and comfort, which grates on her family at times, but having a relative with money can be exceptionally useful. 

Like now, for instance, when Corinne’s shawl warms Diana up more than anything she could herself afford new. Her and Jerry do good enough for themselves, the way things are, with her job, but money is always tight. Diana has more of Corinne’s old clothes than her own. Her connection with Corinne, and furthermore Edgar Rouselle, allows her to maintain some of the old luxuries. 

Corinne chatters on, asking Diana about her trip to Charlottetown and inquiring about what all has changed since her last visit a few years prior until Evangeline runs away from them at full speed, heading down Levis Street. Thankfully, her short legs can only carry her so fast and Corinne quickly grabs her daughter by the arm and hoists Evangeline onto her hip in an act of surrender. She returns to Diana, a little breathless, a rose tint to her cheeks, and fixes the shawl back around her and Diana’s shoulders. 

“Where were we?” Corinne asks. 

Diana chuckles. “We were discussing the new factory near Charlottetown.”

Corinne hums, then waves her hand that isn’t holding onto her child. “Oh, never mind about that. I’ve been meaning to— ouch! No, don’t pull on my hair,  _ mon petit _ — I’ve been meaning to ask you over for supper one of these days. I’ve barely see you all, the last few months.”

“I know,” Diana says apologetically. “I just always have the piano lessons during that time, and most of them are Uptown.” 

“You have to join me and the children soon,” Corinne says. 

“Aunt Diana is coming to supper?” Evangeline asks her mother shyly.

“I will,” Diana tells her. “Would Gabe be joining us?”

“Uncle Gabriel!” Evangeline cries happily, eyes wide and inquisitive at Corinne’s shoulders. 

Corinne scoffs. “We’ll see about that. Do you know how many times I’ve invited my brother over for supper in the last month? Three times a week. Two times he’s shown up! My brother doesn’t love us anymore, I suppose.”

Diana laughs, saying, “Jerry mentioned something about that. Gabe has been quite elusive recently.”

“Quite,” Corinne huffs, a puff of white air coming from her mouth.

“I did have a friend run into him recently— my old friend Cole. Apparently he’s been hanging around Craig Street.” 

Diana, Corinne, and Evangeline round the corner of Hallowell and Notre Dame. 

“I say forget him,” says Corinne, a devious grin creeping onto the corner of her mouth as she tickles her daughter’s stomach. Evangeline giggles, a high pitched chirp that brings that yearnful itch back to her chest. “We’ll have to make our own fun, won’t we?” 

Diana watches, more outside of the moment than she truly is. She smiles and gazes down at the brick road beneath her feet. A few seconds later, Evangeline’s laughing slows and her eyes droop. 

Corinne takes notice of her daughter’s exhaustion and laughs softly. “I suppose it is time for this little one to take a nap.” 

Evangeline lays her head on Corinne’s shoulder. 

“You’re very good with her.”

Corinne waves the comment away with a flick of her hand. “The children come naturally to us women. Especially the little girls.” She lightly tucks one of her daughter’s brown curls behind her little ear. “You’ll understand when you’re a mother.”

“I hope I will.” And Diana means it.

Soon after, a block or two away from Diana and Jerry’s building, Corinne dismisses herself to put her child in a real bed before they get too far away from home. The two women embrace as Diana bids them farewell and plants a kiss on Evangeline’s forehead, and the little girl sleepily says goodbye. 

Diana walks the last few blocks by herself, which honestly is a breath of fresh air after days of never having a minute alone. She savors the moment, lets it really wash over her, as though she doesn’t have hours everyday spent by her lonesome in their room. 

The sky starts to darken as Diana enters her building and walks up the creaking stairs to her home. Goosebumps spread across her arms and legs underneath her dress when she enters their apartment. The room’s cold air hangs stale in the air, like no one’s been in or out since she left, even though Jerry was in here just this morning— his morning coffee mug sits unwashed in the sink. 

The thought strikes Diana that the mug could be from yesterday, or any of the days before. Strange for her to not know of the things that occur in her own house. A foreign feeling. Their apartment isn’t made for just one person; it comes to life when they’re there together. 

Diana decides that she needs to warm the room up before anything else. Once the wood safely burns in the oven, her attention turns to undoing the damage done by leaving her husband to fend— and clean— for himself for almost a week. Jerry can be clean, when he wants to, but lately his working hours have stretched well past sundown, and even when he comes home straight from work, she understands that sweeping or mopping falls low on his list of priorities. 

They’re lucky he  _ can _ work as much as he does now. If he worked at almost any other factory in town he would have no work during the winter or spring. Yes, they  _ are  _ lucky, Diana thinks as she picks up Jerry’s spare work pants and a few coins unexpectedly fall out of the pocket. 

She picks the money up from the floor and moves to put them in the jar where they belong, but then thinks twice and places the coins in her pocket. She’ll go out in an hour when the store down the street reopens and buy a fancy supper to surprise Jerry with. 

Diana finishes cleaning by then, throwing with annoyance a mysteriously bloodied hand towel into a bucket of cold water before putting her coat back on. The blood looks old though. The floor has been swept and mopped, although dirt always seems to find its way back, etched into the floorboards, within seconds. 

Outside the sky has darkened completely, or as completely as it gets in the big city. Diana heads towards the corner market as quickly as she can before the night becomes too cold, although it’s almost too late and the wind from the river already cuts through every layer of clothing as if she didn’t bother to bundle up at all. 

The store is more meant for the big houses that line nearby Rue Saint-Catherine than for her own room on Rue Saint-Ferdinand, where the busy, loud railroad wards off anyone who works above the factory floor. But a few coins fell out of the pocket of a pair of Jerry’s pants she folded so tonight she can afford something more decadent for supper, eventually deciding on a jar of rich stew, made of thick beef broth, carrots, potatoes, and rosemary according to the shopkeeper, M. Mullins. The two cups of rice in the cupboard should go nicely with it. 

On her way home, the same man that always does offers Diana a few sticks of firewood, and she tosses a coin or two his way as she cradles the wood in her arm. He sleeps on Annie Street most nights. Maybe he’ll use the money to make it through what promises to be a brutal January night. 

After arriving home and adding wood to the oven, Diana waits patiently for the stove to be warm enough to cook on. The jar smells divine, just from popping it open and letting the aroma fill their small room. Her lips curve into a smile when the thought strikes her, not for the first time this evening, that she’ll see her husband soon. 

Once the soup has started to warm in its pot, Diana fills the kettle with water from the pump they share with the two other families on their floor to boil it clean. Then Diana pours the hot water into the jar to wash out the rest of the stew’s broth. The water goes straight into the stew, already bubbling with heat, to stretch it as much as possible. As it cooks, Diana opens pantries and looks for something more to pair with the stew, eventually stumbling across some stale bread. The bread will taste fine toasted slightly with a bit of oil spread on a side, if they soak it in the stew’s warm broth.

There. That will be perfect. Diana may have resented her mother for the years she spent forced into lessons of homemaking, but she didn’t come out unlearned.

~

Diana is stirring the pot absent-mindedly when the door clicks open and Jerry steps in, dripping in melting snow and sighing with exhaustion. She drops her spoon immediately to rush over, throwing her arms around his neck. 

Jerry stumbles backward before finding his balance, laughing all the while, and dropping his bag to squeeze her back with equal fervour. “Hello to you, too,” he says, leaning his forehead on her own. 

Diana beams but doesn’t respond right away, bringing their lips together in a kiss. Jerry eagerly returns the kiss with the same fervour he had when they first started courting six years ago. His broad hands press intenly on her back, bringing their chests even tighter together as he guides them towards their bed. With the back of her skirt leaning against their wedding quilt, Diana breaks away but barely moves her face away so she can still feel his breath on her cheeks. 

“I made supper.” She’s still a little breathless. 

Jerry smiles and moves away, reluctance dragging his feet. She wordlessly serves him the bread, the stew, the rice, and then does the same for herself.

Jerry’s foot underneath the table, still in his soaked work boots, periodically grazes the side of her leg and Diana doesn’t even stop him, even though surely he’s left a mark on her stockings. They eat quickly, perhaps too quick for a meal that rich, both acutely aware that something has broken. Diana can’t pretend that verbal communication is one of the strong suits of their marriage but tonight they don’t need words to understand each other perfectly. 

After the stew is gone, all of it, Diana washes the dishes as fast as she can while on their bed Jerry removes his work boots and dries them off with a towel. Diana can’t see him from the sink but she hears the bed creak under his weight. 

Diana places the last bowl in its spot and then turns around, leaning against the counter and taking a deep breath to relax her shoulders. Jerry finished his shoes a minute or two so he just sits there, hands propped up on the mattress behind him for support. His eyes hold hers unwaveringly, beckoning her close. 

She obliges. Her legs move her slowly forward in a pattern that isn’t as familiar as she’d like it to be but it gets her where she needs to go. Jerry’s feet touch the floor even though he leans back. They’re the same height with her standing next to his sitting form. The perfect height for her to do what she does next. 

Diana moves her head in to kiss Jerry. There’s a moment of hesitation on his part, barely perceivable, but soon he returns the kiss with the same vigor. 

She takes her time with him, and he with her, unraveling each other little by little. Sometimes his touch is too light, wary of hurts long healed. Other than the quiet pant of the other’s names, no one breaks the silence. Only afterwards do they find the words to speak.

Jerry says, “Did you miss me?”

Diana cracks a smile into his shoulder where she lays her head. It’s the warmest she’s felt in months. “Don’t be silly. Of course I did.” She settles in closer to his chest. His steady breath and firm arms, which instinctively wrap around her, reassure as they always do. “It was nice to see Anne and Minnie May and everyone else, of course. But, I don’t know, I…” She struggles to put her emotions to words. “It’s like I’m in a- a different story than them. Does that make sense?”

Jerry chuckles. “Um… no.”

“I just mean that— well, I don’t know. I was on the outside of everything, looking in on their lives but I wasn’t a part of it anymore. Like, did you know that Gilbert Blythe proposed to Anne? She refused.”

That gets a big laugh out of him. Diana feels the vibrations from his lungs. He says, “I didn’t know that.”

“She didn’t even tell me. Apparently even Cole knew, but I didn’t. I’m not really a part of that story anymore, you see? But here, I am. This is our story.” 

After a moment’s pause, Jerry finally says, “So that means you’re happy to be home.”

“For now,” Diana replies. Then she places a soft kiss to his neck. “Keep leaving your gross pants on the floor and see how I answer that then.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! please leave a comment or kudos if you liked it! 
> 
> hmu on tumblr if you'd like :) @antspaul
> 
> new chapter in a few weeks? i haven't done much writing recently but hopefully that will change soon and I can keep up with my posting schedule.


	5. Friday, January 21, 1906

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerry fights, Jerry wins, Jerry loses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry for neglecting this story. Whoopsie I guess! School kicked my ass and then quarantine kicked my ass and then another writing idea kicked my ass and then finals kicked my ass. But I'm here now I guess? lmao I hope there are still people interested in this story! Most of it is written (all except the epilogue) so I'm hoping that with summer upon us and with the likelihood of me getting a job very low, I'll be able to post more regularly. I might try to write most of the epilogue before updating again, but if that doesn't happen within the next week or so I'll upload the next chapter. 
> 
> As always, my love to Phoebe, Gus, Tessa, and Jenna. Y'all keep me going <3 
> 
> Chapter warnings: brief mentions of an eating disorder. definitely nothing major on that front.

“Hey, Baynard!”

Jerry looks for the source of the voice, a task made harder as he and the other 400 men who work the factory floor at Benson & Hedges all clamour to leave through the small hallway leading outside. He dismisses it as a trick of his ears, which ring from being next to heavy, moving machinery all day, until a hand grabs his shoulder as soon as he reaches the door. 

Sidney Byrne, who often rolls cigars next to Jerry, pulls him aside to stand against the factory's stony outer wall. The cold reddens the Irishman’s pale cheeks as he says, “I wanted to thank you. For what your wife did.”

It takes a second for Jerry to fully understand what Sidney is referring to. “Oh, you mean the—” He struggles to remember what dish Diana made. “The food.”

“Yeah. That was nice of her,” Sidney says. He fishes in his pocket for something and then pulls out a cigarette tin and a matchbook. "It made Rose smile. Not a lot does that nowadays."

Jerry shrugs. Sidney pulls two cigarettes from the tin, offering one to Jerry. While they're out in the cold he might as well accept so he does, letting Sidney light the end.

"I mean it," Sidney continues with a puff.

Jerry inhales deeply and breathes out a large cloud of smoke. "Just… returning the favor."

He watches Sidney's face with a touch of morbid curiosity, which he might not be able to do on a normal day but today he's feeling good. This whole week he's felt good, like they've finally broken through a wall and can finally move forward after months of being stuck.

Sidney falters, his features twitching with sadness then guilt. He clears his throat. "Well, Rose said your missus can come by anytime to pick up the plate. She, er, still can't leave the bed I'm afraid."

"I'll tell Diana," Jerry says, taking one last drag stubbing the cigarette out on the wall behind him. The cigarette is only half finished but Donny's probably waiting for him so he offers it back to Sidney. Sidney shakes his head and gestures for him to keep the cigarette for himself so Jerry pockets it. "Hope Rose feels better."

Jerry thinks he's in the clear to leave but then Sidney opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but is still deciding on it.

"How long— when did your Diana start feeling better? After?" Sidney asks, eyes cast down at the grey slush that lines the gutters of the street. A little vulnerability that most of the tough working men who staff the factory would never show in a hundred years.

Jerry doesn't give Sidney an answer, not the one he wants. Not like he could. What happened to Diana and Jerry over a year ago was much more complicated to pretend that the circumstances Sidney Byrne or his Rose, with her cough that never really goes away, could ever compare to their own.

"Who knows?" he says with an apathy that's not like him.

"But she did feel better," Sidney says. His cigarette sits in his hand, forgotten, quickly burning to its end.

In the distance Donny leans against a brick wall that advertises William Price lumber. He nods once and that's Jerry's cue.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he tells Sidney and then crosses the street in front of them without giving Sidney a chance to press further.

When he reaches the William Price wall, Donny asks, "What the hell did  _ he _ want?" in that familiar scathing tone of his like he has any room to judge other people, much less an honest man like Sidney Byrne.

Donny was at one point two or three generations back maybe Irish. He has the auburn hair and muddy freckles splashed across his nose to show for it but as far as Donny's concerned nothing but Montreal runs through his veins. Every dirty, crooked inch of the city has been etched into his brain from birth.

"Why do you care?" Jerry shoots back. "Where are we going tonight anyway?"

Donny doesn't relent, not yet. "Come on, give it up," he says as they start walking.

Jerry rolls his eyes and answers. "Diana made him a casserole or something. I don't know. He was just saying thanks."

"I know he said more than that. You wanna know how I know?"

"How."

"Because all week you been smiling like a imbecile and now after talking to Sidney Byrne you ain't. That's how I know."

Donny Lynch has never gone to a day of school in his life, probably has never even owned a Bible, much less any other book, but he pulls out these fancy words when he's insulting people. Like  _ imbecile _ . A word Jerry's grandfather liked to use but Donny isn't French.

"I really don't know why I let you hang around," Jerry says, unamused because Donny can be a pain in the ass but his decades spent on the streets gifted him with the innate ability to read people. "Maybe I'm not smiling anymore because it's cold as hell out here and my face is freezing off."

Donny narrows his eyes at Jerry but miraculously doesn't badger him anymore. Jerry doubts Donny cares about anything other than being right.

"Can I bum that cigarette off ya?" Donny asks.

Jerry finds the half-finished cigarette in his pocket and holds it out to Donny, only to pull it back when the other man reaches to grab it. "Are you going to tell me where we're going?"

Donny huffs. "I got a tip from Duck about a coupla rounds off Craig. There're bunch a virgins supposed to show up. Easy, in and out."

Jerry sighs hands him the cigarette and Donny eagerly sticks it in his mouth. After a second, Donny asks, "You got a light?"

Jerry shakes his head.

"Well, shit," Donny says. "I'm still keeping this."

~

Donny leads him through a number of streets, zig-zagging through alleyways and side streets always insisting that his way is a shortcut. Jerry remains skeptical of this but who knows the city better than Donny? They eventually make their way to a dock off Craig Street where a number of men have already assembled, the edges of the crowd hugging the wall of a building that might've been nice once. Scorch marks line the glassless windows.

In the center of the jeering crowd, two shirtless men lunge at each other, fists clenched and defensive in front of them.

Jerry takes in the scene. "You're sure they're not too exposed?"

"No shit they're exposed. What kind of fighter wears a shirt when they're going at it?"

"I meant the fight," Jerry responds, though he winces at all of the bare skin vulnerable to the frigid night air. "What if that constable shows up again?"

"Eh. Don't worry about him."

Jerry decides not to ask. One man suffers a particularly nasty blow from the other, and stumbles to the ground. Blood gushes freely from his nose and a cut on his forehead as the crowd reacts in boisterous cheers. Jerry himself cringes and nods towards the man who delivered the punch. "Who's that?"

"Bernhard Graff," answers Donny. "German bastard."

With a name like that… "He's good."

Good means nasty. Good means willing to fight dirty even when your opponent has already beat the shit out of you. It's one of the things Jerry's not known for in the ring.

"Well, he's no John Sullivan," Donny muses, pulling out a bag of change from his pocket and rummaging through the coins. "Ya think you'll beat him? Cause if not then my money's on him."

Donny is joking but Jerry rolls his eyes nonetheless.

Graff elbows the other man right in the neck and he goes straight down, spluttering from having the wind knocked out of him.

"I'm fighting him first?" Jerry asks, still squinting at the fight and moving towards it a few steps. They're at the edge of the crowd now.

"Third or fourth, maybe. Remember the coupla virgins?"

_ Easy, in and out _ , Donny had said.

"If I die, Diana will kill me."

The other fighter doesn't look like he's getting up on his own anytime soon. The referee, a balding man in a waistcoat too big for his thin frame who frequents the same prizefights as Jerry, pronounces Graff the winner. Most of the crowd goes crazy, save for a few men who look mad at the lost payday. The next men get up while Graff sits down, drinking from a silver canteen.

Donny pats Jerry firmly on the shoulder. "Better not die then. You're up after these two."

"Who's the bookie tonight?"

"Ref's brother." Donny points to a dark-skinned man in the crowd.

"Same as last week."

Shrugging, Donny urges Jerry forward through the crowd with a firm hand between his shoulders. "Good ol' Jones does me a favor now and then. We have trust, he and me."

"Unlucky for him," Jerry says dryly.

Donny shoves him aside. "Go wrap your hands, you skinny nigmenog, before the bad luck catches on."

He leaves Jerry leaning against a brick wall, wrapping white sticky tape around his palms and wrists. Jerry absentmindedly pulls the tape tighter and more protective, watching Donny approach Jones and hand money over, sealing the deal with a nod and a handshake.

A couple meters down against the same wall sits the brute Graff, whose steady gaze stays fixed on the shifting, writhing circle's center, where two young men, younger than Jerry's twenty-two years, punch and pull hair and grunt loudly as the fight intensifies. Graff periodically brings the canteen to his lips and takes a big swig. Jerry wonders if water or something stronger is inside. He also wonders how Graff would react if he asked for some.

Donny returns a moment later.

"Did you take care of business?" Jerry asks.

The other man nods and shoves his hands deep in the pockets of his coat, a suede thing that might have been green once upon a time. "Shit, it's cold out. You sure you don't have that light?"

The sun touches the tip of the horizon and dark brings harsher breezes off the river, only meters away, that rip through clothes and cut right to the skin.

Jerry shakes his head. At least five men are smoking next to them. He breathes through a shiver threatening to shake his whole body from a particularly hard gust. "Still think I have to take off my shirt?"

"Don't be a fucking dope. Course you do."

Jerry rolls his eyes, thinks of the money, and then asks Donny, "When am I on?"

"You're up next, against who wins this fight," answers Donny, gesturing towards the two young men.

There's a redhead and a guy with hair to his shoulders. Long Hair swings at Red, who ducks and in turn tackles his opponents abdomen. Caught off guard, Long Hair falls and hits his head hard on the ground. An audible and sympathetic groan echoes through the crowd. A second later, when it's clear that Long Hair is down for the count, the referee announces Red the winner.

"You know anything about him?" Jerry asks Donny, who shrugs.

"Never seen him before tonight."

Jerry puts his shoulders back and hopes his experience will trump Red's newcomer tenacity and thirty pounds he probably has on Jerry, who grew out of his gangly limbs and skinny legs eventually, but never gained much more than lean muscle.

A few minutes later, Jerry's shirtless and in the ring opposite Red and things are going his way. For all his shortcomings, Jerry moves fast and thinks on his feet, and he succeeds in swiping a leg under Red's, throwing him off balance. Even though Red catches himself, it's not enough and Jerry takes the chance then to knock him down, keeping a solid grip on the younger man's arms. With a knee to Red's back and arm held down with a painful grip, Jerry is pronounced winner by the Ref with little damage to himself or his opponent, save for a scrape on Red's chin that might have even been from his last fight.

No sweat off Jerry's back, and fifty cents more enters his pocket. The next fight goes much the same way, with the inexperienced young man losing the first fight he ever fought on the streets. At one point Jerry's elbow hits his opponent square in the nose. The blood that immediately gushes looks painful but it could be much, much worse. Another fifty cents. He leaves the rink to rest for a moment while another fight goes on.

Donny meets him against the wall and holds out a flask of water. Wordlessly and with troubled eyes they watch Graff get ready to fight again.

"How are the odds?" Jerry asks.

"Not in favor of you, that's for damn sure," says Donny with a grimace.

"Is your money on me or on him?"

"You know I don't bet on my men's fights."

That's really all Jerry needs to hear. It's all he can hear, as a second later the referee announces the next fight between himself and the solid German mass, who loudly cracks his knuckles and swaggers into the ring with a nonchalance not fit for the occasion.

Then the fight starts and Jerry struggles more than he ever has before to dodge Graff's hurling fists. His goal becomes less to win and more to just minimize the damage to his body. People sometimes place bets on how long an obvious loser will last. Might as well give the audience a show while he's at it. The bookies like that, even if he loses. 

The fight takes a turn for the worse when Graff lands a particularly nasty blow to Jerry's temple and Jerry goes staggering backward from the pain. He sees stars and his vision threatens to go black. His hands cradle his forehead but it's not enough to stop Graff from tackling Jerry and pinning him to the damp, hard street beneath them. Jerry doesn't fight anymore, just struggles to breathe— something's wrong with his ribs, too— while the ref counts down and declares Graff the winner.

Diana's going to really hand it to him now.

~ 

Turns out that the German brute got to him in more ways than he originally thought. Already his ribs have turned an awful red, his eyes can barely stay open, and multiple scratches leak blood from their hastily-applied bandages. More than that, he discovered upon standing up that Graff put all of his weight on Jerry's ankle as he held him down and it is at the very least bruised. Hence why Donny had to help Jerry get home. One slip on an icy road in the dark and Jerry would have been done for.

Donny opens the front door quietly under Jerry's orders, and though only a bedside candle lights the room, he can tell immediately that Diana is still awake. She turns over, perhaps wondering why his entrance into their rooms caused a lot more ruckus than normal, only to spring out of bed as soon as she lays eyes on him.

The flimsy nightgown Diana wears barely covers herself and shows much more than Donny deserves to see, but she barely seems to notice, too busy doting on Jerry.

"What on Earth happened to you?!" she cries, blotting at a cut on his cheek with a damp cloth. "Don't tell me it was an accident at the factory. I'm not stupid. The factory closed hours ago and I know what fresh blood looks like."

Donny and Jerry share a meaningful glance, and Donny almost imperceptibly shakes his head, like,  _ I'm not saying a thing _ .

"Would you believe me if I said I slipped on ice?" Jerry asks, a feeble attempt at gallows humor or some other kind of joke. He sits on the bed and picks at a seam on the quilt. Diana doesn't even tell him to cut it out— she's too upset with him for other things.

Little lines appear between Diana's furrowed brows and her lips press firmly together before she asks Donny to hand her the candle on the table next to him, which she promptly lights. Then she yanks up the bottom of his shirt to reveal the red marks on his chest, which have only grown darker since he left the ring. The imprint of knuckles formed into a fist unmistakably bruised into his sides, too many times and too distinct to be anything else, tells Diana all she needs to know.

Donny awkwardly clears his throat and inches towards the door. "I better go. Nice to see ya again, Mrs. Baynard. See ya tomorrow, Jerry."

Jerry watches as he shuts the door behind him, knowing he's going to get now that they're alone.

Diana pauses for an excruciating moment, mouth clenched shut and refusing to meet his gaze. She blinks rapidly, her eyes glistening, and he realizes she's trying not to cry.

"Is that where you've been off to all of those late nights?" Diana asks, her voice tight and small. "At the canal with Donny Lynch?"

In that moment, Jerry is sorrier than he's ever been. Sorrier than when he had to betray her trust to tell Anne and her mother about her eating problems. Sorrier than every time they couldn't afford something they needed, like thread to stitch a blanket or oil to light a lamp. Sorrier than when Diana cried on their wedding day after a particularly nasty comment from her mother, and he knew that it was because of him, because he wasn't good enough for her.

All he can say is, "Diana…"

Diana shakes her head. "Don't, Jerry. Just tell me. Is that where you where?"

He sighs and nods. "I'm sorry." 

Jerry grabs her hand and is surprised when she doesn't yank it away.

"I thought you said you'd never go there again."

He had said that, true. But that was before everything happened a year ago, when Jerry left Montreal only to come back a few weeks later to less of a job than he had before. Corinne's husband Edgar, the overseer of the cigar factory, did as much of a favor as he could, but his pay was reduced while their cost of living only went up.

"We need the money," is Jerry's only justification.

"We need you alive." Diana's voice cracks on the last word. "Goodness, Jerry, I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you."

A little too late for that, if his scraped body, bruised torso, and sprained ankle are anything to show for it. But still, it could have been a lot worse, had his head hit pavement any harder.

Still. "I'd rather something happen to me than to you," Jerry says.

"Something already has happened to me," Diana says quietly after a moment's pause. Then her tone becomes louder, more urgent. "I'm better, okay? I thought you knew that. I thought..." she swallows. "Did you really not trust me that much?"

The thing is, he does trust her. For a while, he didn't trust her illness, but even that has faded with time. He trusts her now, fully. He tried to show her that. He thought she understood. They always had that kind of relationship, where they understood each other without words.

Even though it hurts the injuries at his ribs, he pulls her close. "I don't know how you could say that,  _ mon oisillon _ . Don’t you know I trust you more than anyone else?"

Diana sniffs against his chest. "You really scared me."

"I won't go there again," he promises. And he intends to keep it, too.

"Good." Diana pulls herself upright and stands, wiping her face of unshed tears and breathing deeply to put herself back together. She laces their fingers together and asks him, "Do you think you can stand on your foot?"

Jerry nods and she helps him to his feet. He winces a little at the pressure, and he'll definitely have a limp, but his foot isn't broken. Just a minor sprain of his ankle, nothing he hasn't managed before.

"I'll be okay," he insists.

Diana's guilt manifests as nagging worry about his minor injuries.

"I'll walk you to work tomorrow," Diana says because of his foot.

He wants to say no, that it will be dark and Hochelaga isn't a good place for a beautiful young woman like Diana to be that early in the morning. There's a long walk between Saint-Henri and the Tobacco Factory, marginally faster but not much safer if she takes the tram. But the assertion that she can't take care of herself would only aggravate what they resolved minutes ago.

So he lets out a breath, tries to look optimistic, even though Diana is wrapping a cloth tightly around his tender ankle, and lets her be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this chapter (if I recall correctly.... I mean I literally wrote it last July so oops). I kinda wish I would have known more and done more research on Montreal before getting to this part of the story, as I can see a few inaccuracies now, having done a full semester's research on the city during this time period and starting my thesis on the same subject. But I hope you all appreciate it just the same!
> 
> Fun fact about Montreal I guess? I did those right? Montreal had the highest infant mortality rate in all of metropolitan North American at the time, worse than every major city in Western Europe except for Liverpool. Happy stuff :) 
> 
> Next chapter, Diana gets some news.


	6. Saturday, January 22, 1906

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good news is not always easy news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the usual suspects ;) you know who you are
> 
> This chapter is specially dedicated to phoebe, one of my very best friends. i know she is reading this and i think she's been waiting for this one....
> 
> chapter warnings: vomiting, references to bingeing and purging and other eating disorder behaviors.

The next day, after helping Jerry to the factory and before Priscilla Moore's piano lesson, Diana makes herself a cup of tea and writes two letters. One goes to Anne and simply updates her that she arrived home from Prince Edward Island safely and then inquires about the title of a book Anne mentioned the last time they were together, just for something to discuss.

The another goes to Margot and she explains more about her frustrations with Jerry. Ever since Jerry and Diana started to court, she found herself turning to Margot, who knew Jerry better than anyone, for advice and reassurance. It was the start of a bond that only grows stronger with time.

A few weeks later, she receives replies from both, mere days apart.

Anne's read:

_ Dearest Diana— _

_ I'm joyous to know your travels back to Montreal went smoothly. I yearn earnestly to visit you, Jerry, and Cole in Montreal and see the beautiful sights that Canada has to offer. But, alas, here in Avonlea there are students to teach and lessons to learn. Not to mention Marilla needs more and more help these days at Green Gables. The farthest I ever go is Redmond College. _

_ Oh, Diana, I might as well come out with it, since you got so cross last time when I waited to tell you. Charlie Sloane from school asked me to marry him. I was mortified! I refused him, of course. Could you imagine? Gilbert Blythe, then Charlie Sloane… who is next, Billy Andrews?! I'm quite perplexed. All of these boys who tormented me in school are suddenly interested now that I'm older. Shows you how idiotic men truly are. _

_ It seems to me that you've managed to marry the one man in Avonlea with any common sense at all. To think that I am saying such a thing about Jerry Baynard truly means men are a lost cause altogether. Perhaps there are more suitable candidates in Montreal. I certainly hope so, at least for Cole's sake. Although men like him are never as rude or unlikable as our type— or at least that's what I figure from the few I've met. _

_ Speaking of rude men, Gilbert Blythe is coming back to Avonlea for good. Mary told me so when Marilla had her, Bash, Beth, and little George over for supper last Sunday. I'm not sure when exactly he will be back— I didn't press Mary for details as I  _ _ do not care _ _ , but I thought it was interesting news at least. _

_ By the way, the book you are thinking of is  _ _ The Picture of Dorian Gray _ _ by Oscar Wilde. I found it an entrancing read, if not chilling and confusing at parts. My new friend Roy recommended it to me. _

_ I hope to see you soon, dearest friend. Say hello to everyone for me. _

_ With all the love in my heart, _

_ Anne Shirley-Cuthbert _

Margot's read:

_ Diana _

_ I am always glad to hear from you. I wish I saw you when you visited the iland but next time. It is good that your trip went well. It has been too long sister. Maybe soon I can visit you Jerry Gabe and Corinne in montreal. Corinne keeps telling me to come but never wants to visit us. _

__

_ Maman is pestering me so much these days. Soon it will be the end of me I am sure she wants me to get married soon. She says it is for my own good so that I will be happy. I think her and papa just want a more quiet house and one less mouth to feed. Papa gets more tired these days thouh. Chloe left the house months ago and Satine and Lanore are still littel. Lanore said yesterday she wants to go back to  _ _ sco  _ _ school. I just feel better here with him.  _

__

_ I told you all this before so sorry. Do not worry about me I will be fine. I just wanted to tell someone who is not my brothers and sisters. _

__

_ My advice about my brother is he is stupid for the people he loves Tell him if he tries anything like the  _ _ fit figt  _ _ fighting again I will tell Maman. That will scare him. You will figure every thing out I am sure of it _

__

_ The other news you told me is also good news. It was hard for everyone to see what happened last year. I am thinking good things for you and Jerry and you are in my prayers everyday. _

__

_ Love you much sister _

__

_ Margot Baynard _

__

__

Diana struggles to remember what she told Anne and Margot in her original letters to them. Nevertheless, their words bring her comfort. When she reads them out loud to Jerry that night, she skips the parts where Margot talks about him.

Things are better between them, now that everything's out in the open. She's made an effort, too, to be more open about her feelings in the spirit of honesty. There's a sweetness to their lives. Even if she does find herself more than once reaching for the pocketbook only to discover it empty.

The second Friday of February, Corinne invites her over for afternoon tea. 

For a moment Diana considers heading home, as her stomach has been giving her trouble today. But she hasn’t seen Corinne in a few weeks. The Rouselles live on the outskirts of Uptown, so Diana easily makes her way there after Priscilla Moore's lesson. Edgar, Corinne's husband, makes a decent living as the floor manager at Jerry's factory. He, Corinne, and their children (two daughters and an infant son) live a better life than most, owning the entire second floor of a modest brownstone facing Rue-de-Montigny. From the front door, Diana can see Logan Park and St. James Church. The Rouselles live in the Protestant part of Montreal.

When she climbs the stairs and knocks on the door, the Rouselles' maid, Roselyn, answers, ushering Diana inside. Despite the cold, the morning sun still shines brightly through their east-facing windows.

"Mme. Rouselle is in the dining room, Mme. Baynard," Roselyn says in French, bouncing little Edgar on her hip.

Diana thanks her and goes to join Corinne. The table has been decorated lavishly, as if someone far more important than Corinne's sister-in-law is coming to tea. Diana sees that Corinne pulled out one of her nicer teapots and cup sets. Diana would really think that someone special was coming, if there weren't only two places set at the table.

Corinne stands up and warmly embraces Diana, placing a kiss on each of her cheeks. Diana returns the gesture. The two women sit down.

"I hope my brother has been treating you well," Corinne says, pouring tea into two cups. She hands one to Diana, who takes it graciously and adds sugar and cream into it.

Diana blows on her tea absentmindedly. She has yet to fill Corinne in on Jerry's short-lived moonlighting, but since they've mostly sorted that out between themselves, she'll give Jerry this small amount of privacy and not disclose their business to his sister.

"Well enough," Diana responds. "He works less these days, so it's nice to have him home."

"I wish I could say the same about Edgar. The man works so much, I swear he forgets we’re here,” Corinne says, a little bitter. “But such is the life of a successful man.”

Roselyn comes in with a platter of sandwiches and fruit. The little things, like having fresh fruit in the middle of February, reveal how comfortable Corinne and Edgar Rouselle really are. Little glimpses into the upbringing Diana took for granted. 

As Roselyn sits the plate down in between them, Diana tells Corinne, “He comes home for supper most days, though, doesn’t he?”

Corinne sips her tea, then thoughtfully responds, “Well, Edgar slides into his seat just in time, if he makes it at all. He gets terribly cross if we start eating without him, even if he’s an hour late. They fired one of the evening overseers, didn’t you know? So Edgar feels obliged to stay late.”

“I didn’t know that,” Diana says, although she can’t say for sure Jerry never mentioned it. He doesn’t talk much about work. There’s never much to talk about, she supposes. Nothing interesting, anyway. 

“Enough whining from me, anyhow. We’ve barely seen each other since you came back from Charlottetown. You must tell me about your visit. Did you see any family?”

“Of a sort. My sister Minnie May made an appearance at the soiree but she was busy with a boy the whole time.” 

Corinne snorts. “How old is she?”

“Thirteen.”

“I remember how it was at that age. You think you’re as grown up as you’ll ever be.” 

“Yes, well, she seems quite good at giving my mother a headache,” Diana says with a small grin. She reaches for a biscuit and places it on her plate. “Although that’s nothing new.” 

“So you were the good child in your family?”

“In a way,” Diana says. “I gave my mother my fair share of trouble.” 

“I don’t believe it for a second,” says Corinne. She pushes the plate of sandwiches towards Diana. “Here, have one. Tell me how you like it. I bought some of that fancy canned tuna from Australia.”

Diana picks one up, but as she brings it closer to her mouth, the smell enters her nose and her stomach lurches. She throws the sandwich down onto her plate before running for a nearby wastebasket and losing the contents of her stomach into it. 

For years, throwing up triggered difficult emotions and memories to resurface in her mind. She doesn’t feel the full strength of those emotions, not right now. Instead they’ve been replaced by fear. 

“Oh, dear,” Corinne says, standing up from her chair and walking over to crouch at Diana’s side. “Are you alright?”

Diana breathes in and out deeply, wiping her mouth. “I’m very sorry, I haven’t been feeling well all day. And the smell of the sandwiches—” 

There’s a glint in Corinne’s eyes as she says, “Well, that’s to be expected, isn’t it?”

Diana looks down and sighs. Corinne has reached the same conclusion she has. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it until just now.”

“Still, a mother knows. What do you  _ feel _ ?” 

Diana places a hand over her belly. Corinne takes the other one and squeezes it tightly, supportive. 

“Maybe,” Diana finally says after a moment’s pause. “Maybe I am pregnant.”

Other mothers say they knew when they missed their monthly, but ever since she was a teenager and her eating problems started her bleeding hasn’t come on a schedule. All of the self-induced vomiting has left her stomach in a permanent state of knots where the smallest scent can take her appetite or have her laying down to quell the queasiness. Diana doesn’t have much proof besides the feeling, but Corinne is right. A mother knows.

Corinne smiles, and then helps Diana to her feet and then to her chair. She moves her own chair closer so they can speak quietly. 

“Sorry about the mess,” Diana says, feeling a little light-headed. 

Corinne waves her worries away. “I’ll have Roselyn clean it up later. There are three children in this house. It’s nothing she hasn’t done before. Don’t think about it, really. I want to know how you feel.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t want to put all of this thought into it for it to not be true in the end.”

“Surely you thought it was possible,” Corinne says. 

Diana’s cheeks burn as she admits, “It wasn’t until recently. It’s only been a few weeks since…”

Corinne looks slightly taken aback. “Oh, I didn’t realize.”

“Things have been difficult this year,” Diana says plainly. Corinne knows enough that comprehension dawns on her face and she nods sympathetically. 

“How are you feeling about it, right here and now?” she asks Diana. 

Diana takes a sip of her tea, knowing that she has to rehydrate after throwing up. “It’s normal to feel scared, isn’t it?”

She felt scared, last time. 

“I’d be worried if you didn’t.” 

“But as scared as I feel now? I don’t know, Corinne.”

“Do you think you’ll tell Jerry soon?” Corinne asks. 

“I don’t know,” Diana replies. “I’ve barely had a minute to think about all this. I should tell him soon, shouldn’t I?”

“It won’t be long before you can’t hide it anymore,” Corinne says wisely. 

It’s true. Even before she starts to show any physical sign of pregnancy, he’s likely to know that something is going on. If she throws up almost everyday, or faints, or suffers mood swings, or any of the other changes, he’s bound to at least get concerned that her illness has acted up again. 

“I know,” Diana says. But the idea of having to tell Jerry- of having to pick the right time and sit him down and then  _ go through with it _ \- numbs her palms and brings a tremble to her hands. 

Corinne reaches out and places a hand over Diana’s. “You’ll tell me how everything goes, won’t you? And if there’s anything you’d rather talk to a woman about?”

Diana nods and puts on a smile. She’s glad to have Corinne around, her soothing presence a sort of surrogate for Anne in her friend’s absence. “Of course I will.”

But as the days pass, Diana struggles to come up with the words to say to her husband. Once upon a time, they might have come to her easy, but nothing that needs to be said—  _ it’s happening again, I swear it won’t be like last time, I’m scared and I really need you _ — sounds right. If she were Anne, she would be drowning in too many words, not too few. Diana misses Anne the most in times like these, when some comforting words and a sensational, dramatic tale would go far to make her more at peace. 

Her body feels foreign to her as it starts to show more and more signs that confirm what she had thought. Many days she wakes up horribly nauseous, her bosom aches, and she gets tired so easily now. Walking to piano lessons takes almost twice as long now, as she has to stop to sit down. 

Jerry suspects something, or is at least on the verge of suspicion. He asks her not-so-subtly one morning to wait to eat supper until he gets home. Definitely not a hard request to acquiesce, but one she sees straight through and he knows it. Still, whatever to make him feel better. 

One afternoon in early Spring there’s a new warmth to the air, and the sun stays out all day long for the first time in weeks. It makes Diana cheerful, so she decides to tell Jerry that evening and stop delaying the inevitable. 

She picks the ingredients to make a meat pie for supper, even splurging on some fresh ground chicken from the butchershop on Rue-Saint-Antoine and Rue-Agnes. She tells the butcher that she has special news to tell Jerry while placing a firm hand over her stomach. The butcher has always been kind to her so he takes a few cents off of the price. 

She gets home around sunset and starts to cook. The meat pie is in the oven, its crust crisping under the fire that gradually warms up their little home. Before they moved to the city, when Jerry still worked at the lobster cannery outside of Avonlea, his mother showed Diana how to make a pie crust the right way. So she replicates that tonight, hoping that it will be as good and comforting as Valerie Baynard’s. 

She’s about to take the pie from the oven when a whiff hits her nose and leaves her careening towards the empty bucket that held the firewood she just used. She heaves to expel the contents of her stomach into the bucket and is in the middle of a particularly nasty spell that Jerry walks through the door without preamble. 

Immediately her heart jumps to her throat because she knows exactly what this looks like to him. How many times have they been through this scene? 

Diana doesn’t know if she should be relieved or upset that Jerry appears unsurprised at her current dishevelment as he calmly places his bag down and fills a cup with water. 

Crouching down next to her, Jerry passes her the water and she takes a sip. 

“Are you done?” he asks, disappointed patience lacing his words. He rubs her back lightly. 

She nods her head and takes another sip of water. “I’m okay.  _ Mon caneton _ , I’m alright. I promise.”

He sighs. “We have enough to get to Avonlea in the savings jar. Diana, don’t tell me you don’t need a doctor. We’ve been through this before, so I—”

“Jerry,” Diana says, taking a breath. She sets down the cup of water and grabs his hand. “I’m not throwing- I mean, I’m not making myself do anything.” She moves his hand to her stomach. “I’m pregnant.”

His eyes go wide. He says, “Oh.”

She gives him a small grin. “Yes.”

Jerry doesn’t say anything more for a while. He gets a faraway look about him. Then he says urgently, “Are you alright?”

Diana nods. “I think so. I’m just scared.”

“Me too.”

“Maybe by the time it comes I won’t feel so scared.”

He chuckles, his face suddenly bright, and pulls her into a tight embrace. “I don’t think it works like that.”

She stays in his embrace until she remembers what she was doing before this. Diana leaps back. “The food! I forgot!”

Diana leaps up from the floor, grabbing a hefty rag and sprinting to the oven, pulling the meat pie from the heat. Thankfully, the extra time cooking didn't burn it, though the crust looks more brown than golden. The rich smell of spiced meat permeates the room around them, wafting into Diana's nose and making her stomach turn once again, if only from hunger. She doesn't go lurching this time, however, and finds success in breathing through the nausea. 

"Sorry," she says to Jerry. 

From the floor, Jerry laughs at that and lifts himself upright to stand beside her. "That smells good," he says, leaning over to give the meat pie a sniff. 

"It smells a little too much is the problem," Diana admits, a little bashful. 

Jerry nods. "I remember that from—" He clears his throat and shifts his gaze down awkwardly. His silence finishes his sentence for him. 

Grabbing his hand, Diana smiles nervously. "You're happy, aren't you?" 

In response, he pulls her into a tight hug, pressing a firm kiss onto the side of her head. " _ Oui, mon oisillon _ ." 

He says it so matter-of-fact. Like two minutes ago he didn't think she had relapsed again. Like the last year didn't happen. Jerry's capacity to forgive and see only the good in people never ceases to amaze Diana. 

Diana returns the embrace with all the strength she has, which seems to surprise Jerry. He leans back so he can see her face but stays in her arms. 

The corners of his mouth turned up and his eyebrows knitted together on his forehead, Jerry says, "You know I'm not going anywhere,  _ oui _ ?"

"I know," Diana says quietly, pulling him back into the hug. 

She can hear Jerry chuckling near her ear, but she just holds him and he lets her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm happy to say that I've officially completed this fic and this series! i'll be uploading weekly or perhaps more frequently if i get excited. this fic will end up around 40k words and 13 chapters. i hope you all enjoy it and i look forward to your comments :) 
> 
> history fact: today Montreal's school boards are separated by language: there's an English and a French school system for obvious reasons. historically, though, school boards were separated by religion: the Roman Catholic school board and the Protestant school board. This caused problems, considering that the RC school board had to serve the majority of the island's poor population, which made up most of the population and were split pretty evenly down the middle as half Anglo (Irish Catholics) and half Franco (French Canadians). This also caused problems when groups who didn't fit into either category (Jews, Orthodox Greeks) came to the city in large numbers at the turn of the century. I could talk about this a lot so I'll stop myself there but i thought it was interesting!


	7. Feburary 1906

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many thanks to gus and phoebe :) i love you both so much!! and happy birthday gus!!!!
> 
> sorry for taking a while to update! i was going to last week but felt strange uploading anything during the first days of the protests. i'll put some resources in my end notes where you can contribute and educate yourselves!
> 
> trigger warnings: allusions to eating disorder behavior, vomiting, allusions to miscarriage

The next week is the best week they've had in a year. Jerry can't keep a smile off his face and Diana laughs easier. It won't be long before the matter of money, and how much a child costs, never leaves her mind. They aren't there yet, however, so Diana lets herself be happy. 

Thanks to the recommendation of Agatha Donahue, Diana picks up another piano student and lessons start the very next Monday. Phoebe Wilson shows promise as a student, but more importantly her parents pay Diana almost double what the other parents pay. The extra money offers a small cushion so Jerry and Diana can spend a bit more on food and put a little away. 

The last week of February, a charity nurse from the Royal Victoria Hospital comes to their house and examines Diana. The nurse, Sarah, estimates that Diana is eight or nine weeks along, and shows some concern at the extent of her morning sickness, but Diana is otherwise healthy. It’s a relief. 

The next Thursday, Diana has a piano lesson with Phoebe and then tea with Cole scheduled directly after. She wakes up in the morning feeling a little worse for wear, but she reassures herself that feeling a bit green around the gills and tired is nothing to be concerned about in her current condition. So Diana brushes it aside and heads to the Wilsons’. 

Like most of Diana’s pupils, the Wilsons live Uptown. The walk takes considerable energy, so Diana leaves a little early so she can take breaks along the way. The routine evokes images of worse times but at least she knows how to handle herself in this way. 

Phoebe Wilson, at age eight, clearly doesn’t want to take piano lessons, but does so to please her recently widowed father. It’s hard to miss the way Phoebe looks longingly towards her younger brothers as they play fight in the next room. But she puts tremendous effort into her playing. Diana can’t be sure, but she believes the late Mrs. Wilson started to teach her only daughter piano before her passing. 

Diana is demonstrating a new piece that they’ll be working on together, Debussy’s _ Des pas sur la neige  _ when an intense headache starts forming at the back of her head. Experience tells her that this, in combination with the dryness of her mouth, means she needs to drink more water. 

“I’ll show the rest in a moment,” Diana says to Phoebe. “Would you excuse me?”

Phoebe shrugs, unbothered and slightly distracted. “Okay, Mrs. Baynard.”

Diana shakily stands up and finds the kitchen, where two of the Wilson’s cooks are preparing supper. One notices her and asks, “Can I help you, ma’am?”

“I was hoping for a glass of water,” Diana says. She leans against a counter and places a hand over her stomach. 

The woman understands immediately. “Of course, ma’am.” She grabs a glass down and fills it from a pitcher of water. 

Diana accepts it gratefully. “Thank you very much.” She drinks half of it in only a few gulps. 

“You do better to drink it slow,” the cook says. “Unless you want it to come right back up.”

She cracks a smile at the cook’s kindness as the woman goes back to work chopping a head of cabbage. Even though it’s hard, Diana takes smaller sips until she finishes the water. 

When she returns, Phoebe looks like same as she did before Diana left— distracted and bored, swinging her legs and kicking the lower panel, each impact eliciting a dull thud from the hollow instrument. 

Diana apologizes and jumps back into her instruction, but the water seems to have done little to improve her headache so she cuts the lesson a few minutes short. Mr. Wilson barely notices and gives her the full payment anyway. 

By the time Diana arrives at Cole’s apartment, her health has worsened significantly. Her head throbs and waves of nausea threaten to spill over at any second. She feels dizzy, and the short walk to Cole’s is agonizing. Halfway there, she finds herself heaving in an alley and as a result almost turns around and heads home, but continues on, deciding that perhaps a good lunch will fix things. 

Diana knocks on his door, desperate to get inside and rest. 

Cole opens the door and welcomes her in warmly. “I’m so glad you’re here, Diana.”

“I’m very glad to see you, too.”

They embrace and then he takes her coat. 

Cole’s apartment feels much more like a home than it did the first time she visited. Thick red curtains drape over his large windows, and clearly Rollings has sent more of his artwork from Charlottetown. A spacious area rug covers the floor beneath their feet and bright lamps illuminate the room. The space remains small but the expensive, intricate things that Cole has placed in it give the illusion that there’s more to be seen, that this is only the sitting room and there are many more rooms just like it to explore. 

They sit at Cole’s tea table and he pours her a cup of tea. 

“Cream, no sugar, right?” Cole asks. 

She nods. “Good memory.”

He hands her the cup and the cream, which she pours into the tea, as he pushes a basket of scones her way. She grabs a few, even though her stomach protests, and spreads a bit of jam on them. 

“You’ve drank your tea the same since we were young,” Cole says. “It’s not so hard.”

Diana laughs, but her heart’s not in it. 

“Besides,” continues Cole, “Aunt Jo takes her tea the same way.”

“It runs in the family, I suppose.” 

Diana wonders how her child will prefer their tea. 

“Does your father take his the same way?” Cole asks. 

“No, he doesn’t. He takes sugar with no cream and my mother takes neither.”

“Curious.” Cole sips his tea and breathes deeply. “Well, Aunt Jo likes to say that you take after her more than them.”

Diana gives a hollow chuckle into her cup, her stomach churning. “I only wish that were true.” 

She breathes deeply through the nausea but doesn’t do a very good job of hiding her discomfort. 

“Are you feeling alright, Diana?” Cole asks, leaning forward with concern. “You’re looking a little pale.”

“I’m afraid I’m a little under the weather at the moment,” Diana says with a sigh. 

“What’s the matter?”

She considers telling Cole about the baby. But it’s too early right now. Things are too uncertain. 

“Just a headache. I’ll be okay. Really,” Diana says. “It’s that time of year. The changing weather, you know.”

Cole’s eyebrows knit together. “Didn’t you get headaches a lot when we were younger?”

Chronic migraines were the socially-acceptable excuse for her illness given to family and friends to explain her extended absences. 

Bile rises in her throat but she swallows it back down. “This isn’t that,” she says, harsher than intended. “That doesn’t bother me anymore.”

“If you say so,” he says, and then takes a bite of a scone. “Oh! I almost forgot!” He stands up and rushes to his ice box, bringing back a small jar with something white inside. “I found a shop that makes fresh clotted cream.”

Cole extends the jar towards her, and she takes it. Despite her churning stomach, Diana has to smile. “It’s been years since I had clotted cream! It’s very kind of you to share.” 

“Of course,” Cole says. “I grew rather fond of it during my time in Devon a few years back.”

“My father always wanted it when I was younger, but my mother didn’t know how to make it and they could never find it in Carmody. Mary Joe tried once or twice, but it never tasted quite right.”

“Have you ever been to England?” Cole asks. 

“No,” Diana says and can’t help but feel a little jealous that Cole visited the birth country of her parents while she never got the chance. “My parents and sister went themselves when I was nineteen.”

“I remember that, I think. Your father invited Aunt Jo- and me, too, I suppose- but she respectfully declined.”

“I don’t blame her,” Diana says. Her head throbs so she spreads the cream, then the jam, on another scone and takes a bite. It doesn’t help much. 

“No disrespect meant, of course. Only I think Aunt Jo gets a rather bored around your mother and father. A little stifled. You know she gets very cross when her mind gets the chance to wander. Though, she would have said yes had you been able to come.”

Diana would have loved to. But her family’s travels coincided with some of the first months of her and Jerry’s marriage and the idea of going on an extended holiday with her parents seemed like an unwanted distraction from the new life she was building for herself, outside of their reach. 

“Maybe someday,” Diana says vaguely, suddenly feeling a lot worse than she did a moment ago. The blood is rushing to her head and dark spots dance in her vision. She grabs the arm of her chair tightly and takes a deep breath. 

“Diana, you’re really not looking well.” 

She squeezes her eyes shut tightly. “I think I need to lay down,” she admits. 

He helps her over to his lounge chair and helps her rest her head. She thanks him and tries to breathe through the nausea, starting to realize that what she’s going through isn’t normal for a pregnancy. 

  
“Is this what they feel like, your headaches?” Cole asks. 

Here’s the truth: physically, the symptoms are almost identical to what she went through at sixteen. The dry mouth, the hunger so intense it hurts, the raw patch at the back of her throat that never goes away.

“No,” Diana lies. “I think I’m just… a little sick.”

Her eyelids squeeze together tightly but surely if she opened them she would see Cole’s disapproving and concerned glance, one of a type she’s been on the receiving end of many times over the last six years, especially from her mother and husband. 

“Can I… do anything?” Cole asks her. 

She shakes her head. “I’ll be alright in only a few minutes.” Diana pulls herself up and forces her eyes to open. “I’m already on the mend.”

“I’ll get you a glass of water,” Cole says, walking to his kitchen area and returning a moment later, glass in hand. 

She takes it and gladly sips at it. The water she drank at the Wilson’s disappeared along with her breakfast on the way over. “Thank you.”

Cole sits down on the settee next to Diana and places a reassuring hand on her back. “At least let me walk you home.”

As much as she hates the extra attention, she has no choice but to oblige him. 

In the end, Diana is glad for his company. Her tired limbs and the ice that refuses to melt from the streets make the walk a hard one, and Cole helps her keep her balance. 

Cole lives off Craig Street, so to walk back to Jerry and Diana’s building, their path is straight down the street, with its spacious roads and bustling street vendors that never leave it empty, even as Craig turns to Saint-Antoine. Diana watches at Cole takes in his new surroundings with curious eyes. She doubts that in the two months since he moved here Cole has gone much further south than the Windsor Hotel. 

As they approach the neighborhood Saint-Henri, the buildings shrink in stature and the air grows crowded with the industrial hum of the Pacific Railway to their right, and the Trunk to their left. Little more than a year ago, Saint-Henri was its own city, but 1905 saw its incorporation into Montreal and the movement of families like the Baynards into shiftily constructed rear tenements that line the backs of more appealing brownstone houses, out of sight from the sensible bourgeois families walking to church on Sunday. 

“It’s quiet out here,” Cole remarks as they enter Sainte-Cunegonde. 

The statement isn’t true, exactly, but Diana can see what he means. Quiet? Perhaps not. The railroad tracks surrounding them make sure of that. But the boisterous roar of machinery and singing buskers, clamouring newsboys and heckling street hawkers that characterize Uptown or Centre-Sud are notably absent. The streets still bustle with activity, as people come and go and vendors tend to their carts, but there’s a stillness. 

Softly, Cole asks with a chuckle, “Are we even in Montreal anymore?”

“Not right now,” Diana answers, winded. “This is Sainte-Cunegonde. It has its own city council. Do you see that street over there?” She points at Atwater Avenue, a block away. “Once we cross, we’ll be back in Montreal and close to home.”

“It’s a different world here.”

“Do you mean in Montreal or Sainte-Cunegonde?”

Cole shrugs. “I don’t know. Both, perhaps. Isn’t it strange and marvelous how people from the same block can live their lives so differently?”

Diana nods at a woman and her two children that sit on their stoop. The children have dark brown skin made darker with dirt and grime that comes back no matter how many times you scrub it away. She’s seen the woman sit there before, late at night on a freezing evening when any sensible person with a place to go would have retreated inside to escape the harsh wind. 

Where Diana lives, difference means inequality. It means that the small window the lucky ones have in the dark tenements faces south, enough to catch a breeze from the dump down the river or the sounds of debauchery from the alley below but not the bright sun in the morning or the pale face of the moon at night. 

Diana doesn’t answer. Crossing Annie Street, they’re nearing her building now, with only a block and a half to go. 

“These buildings look brand new,” Cole remarks, looking around at the brown and white bricked apartments that face Rue Saint-Antoine. “Are we close to yours?”

“Yes, very.”

“Which one is yours?” he asks.

  
She sways a little and he grasps her arm tighter. “None of these, I’m afraid. We turn here.” She nods towards Metcalfe Avenue.

As soon as she and Cole turn onto Metcalfe and then Agnes, the mood shifts. The road shines with unmelted ice and is less stable beneath her feet and the narrow walkway hides the sun. Diana feels an ounce of shame to be showing Cole her home, but she pushes her shoulders back, tilts her chin, and puts on an air of poised grace meant to show her companion she’s unaffected. 

She gestures towards the door of her building and he opens it for them. 

Cole clears his throat as they approach the stairwell. “Which floor?”

“The second.”

Diana badly wants to look at his face, to see his reaction, but it isn’t easy since he’s leading her up the stairs and in his own way, Cole is a Barry too and there’s nothing her family is better at than hiding their true feelings. 

By the time they reach her doorstep, Diana huffs with exhaustion. The walk had not been easy on her body and climbing ten steps to the second floor took the last of her energy. Still, it could be worse. Her building goes on for four floors above this. 

They pass the communal bathroom, the only source of water for the first three floors. A woman and her young wailing child stand in the hall behind a young boy who greedily slurps water from the faucet. The water doesn’t usually run clear and she can smell the sulfur from feet away. No one living at 57 Rue Agnes cares too much. To be able to access running water without going outside in winter is a gift in itself. 

As Diana leads Cole down the long hall to the other side of the building, his eyes widen and a crease forms between his brows. He looks up and around, taking in every inch of the grit and grime. She understands. Diana had a similar reaction when she saw her first tenement. They don’t build like that on Prince Edward Island, not even in Charlottetown. Cole travels but she doubts his artistic adventures lead him into the slums very often. 

They finally reach her door. “This is us,” Diana says, unlocking the door and trying to remember what state she left her home this morning. She hasn’t been up to much housework recently and keeping even a small room in a place like this clean is an occupation all by itself. 

When they walk inside, the air hangs stiff and freezing. They’re blessed with a window, which is more than most of their neighbors can say, but it tends to let in a draft. The weather may be turning warmer but the wind still stings wickedly. 

Diana collapses on her bed, relieved to have a moment of rest. Her movements lag and she aches to lay back, though her mind doesn’t stop moving. Her body contradicts itself in a familiar way. “Sit at the table if you’d like. In a moment I’ll start a fire in the oven to warm us up.”

Cole removes his hat and places it on their table. He still looks a little bewildered and looks like he’s going to say something about it. “I can do it.”

She’s dubious, but lets him fumble with the matches and firewood. After a few minutes, he finally gets it going and welcome warmth begins to fill the small space. 

“It’s a little tricky,” Diana says. 

He smiles bashfully, rubbing his reddened neck. “The one at my place is electric.”

Of course it is.

“I can’t thank you enough.” Diana looks down. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without your help today.”

“Anything for a friend,” Cole replies, matter-of-fact, a gentle smile on his face. “Should I stay until Jerry gets here?”

“Oh.” In these most lonely hours of the afternoon and evening his company is most welcome. But she doesn’t want to burden him anymore than she already has. “If you’d like. But he likely won’t be home until later tonight.” 

The cold receding, Cole sheds his coat and places it on the back of the chair where Jerry usually sits. “I’d love to spend an evening with an old friend.”

Cole, the godsend that he is, helps her cook dinner. Actually he does most of the preparations as she instructs him. They make tourtière, which Cole isn’t particularly familiar with, at least made this way. Jerry likes it with pork but since moving to Montreal Diana has only seen it with ground beef. 

As Diana shows Cole how to form the crust, he says, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Diana nods. To tell the truth, she doesn’t feel much better, especially since the smell from the food leaves her stomach churning but she isn’t worse than when she first got home. “I just need more sleep, I think.”

Cole presses his lips together in a fine line before telling her, “If you need to take a break from working, you know we would more than gladly help.”

“You’re helping more than enough,” Diana says sharply, trying her best not to sound resentful. 

But Cole presses on. “If you think your headaches are back, we can—”

“They’re not back. I promise.” And then she stands up to prove that she’s fine, ignoring the black spots forming in her vision. They thankfully go away after only a few seconds. “I think the tourtière can go in the oven now.”

“You should write Aunt Josephine. That’s all I’m saying.” Cole sighs but he leaves it at that. 

A few hours later the door opens and Jerry walks in, preoccupied until he sees Cole with a jump. 

“ _ Bonjour _ ,” Jerry says cautiously, setting his thermos down and hanging his coat. 

“Nice to see you, Jerry.”

Jerry first greets Diana, planting a kiss on her head. Then Cole holds out his palm and they shake hands. 

“Diana didn’t tell me you would be here,” says Jerry, shooting a confused look towards his wife when Cole looks away. He sits next to Diana on their bed and starts to unlace his boots.

Cole chuckles from his seat at the table. “How could she tell you what she didn’t know herself? When we met for tea Diana started to feel sick. I escorted her home to ensure her safety, and to make sure she didn't faint in an alley.”

Diana frowns and hopes Jerry interprets the story for its truth instead of unfounded worries. 

“Faint?” he says carefully. They share a meaningful, heavy look that Cole would be blind to miss. 

Leaning against the wall at the head of their bed, Diana looks at her hands. “My stomach has been giving me trouble these days. You know that.”

Jerry looks at her for a second too long. Then he sighs. “Are you alright?”

Diana nods. She feels Cole’s eyes on them.

“Are you staying for dinner, Mr. Mackenzie?” Jerry asks. 

Cole stands up and clears his throat. “Actually, I should get going.” 

It’s for the best. They don’t have enough food to feed all three of them. 

“Thank you for your help, Cole,” Diana says. 

He gathers his coat and hat, nodding at her. “Feel better, Diana. Have a good night.”

Cole closes the door soundly behind him. Diana hopes he knows how to get home from here. 

It’s all quiet. Then Jerry says, “Are you eating, Diana?”

She knew it was coming so she grabs his hand earnestly. “I’m doing fine, Jerry. I promise. It’s just a hard pregnancy. That’s all.”

He breathes out and nods. “The anniversary—”

“—is over. I thought you weren’t worrying about that.”

Jerry reaches out his free hand to trace her jawline. “I’m always going to worry about you.”

With his touch he brings their mouths together for a soft kiss. Before it can turn into something more she pulls away and gets herself out of bed. 

“Speaking of food, dinner is ready,” Diana says with a small smile. “Let’s worry about that first, shall we?”

~

Everyday Diana wakes up hoping that today will be the day she will start to feel better, but that day never comes. At least not in the next week. Thursday through Sunday she stays close to home and takes it easy. Her morning sickness still extends well past the morning and comes more frequently than she remembers it should, and her head still pounds from lack of fluid and fuel. But she conserves enough energy to prepare dinner and keep their home clean at least. 

But then it’s Sunday and they start towards St. Peter’s Cathedral. The walk takes longer because the basilica, which gives Mass in French, is situated in the middle of English Uptown (which created much controversy, she’s heard, upon its initial construction). Diana and Jerry normally walk at a leisurely pace, take a streetcar if they can afford it, but this morning the cars are full and their pockets are empty so they must walk the whole length. 

When they enter the nave, Diana’s legs give out just in time for them to sit down in their pew next to Corinne and the rest of the Rouselles. Jerry doesn’t notice that, although he eyes her with concern in the middle of the Eucharist when she makes a hasty exit to the restroom to throw up, despite her stomach emptying itself of its contents no ten minutes before leaving. 

Jerry makes sure they take the streetcar home. Most Sunday afternoons they join the Rouselles for supper but that day they can’t get home soon enough. Without eating anything, Diana lies down for a small rest that stretches well into the evening. She only awakens to the nauseating smell of something being cooked on the stove. Even the slightest smell of food leaves her stomach churning. 

There’s only so much sickness she can attribute to the baby. 

That something is wrong becomes even more evident throughout the rest of the week. Her dry mouth, her throbbing head, the black that clouds her vision when she stands, the constant nausea from both hunger and repulsion, the debilitating fatigue, the raw spots at the back of her throat from constant abuse— all achingly familiar. Her sickness takes its physical toll, yes, but more than anything its toll is mental. 

The next Friday morning Diana perches on her hands and knees, retching into the bucket she’s momentarily appropriated for this very purpose, with Jerry patiently sitting behind her, holding her hair back and rubbing her back. Then the thought runs through her mind: if she doesn’t eat, then there won’t be anything for her to throw up. 

It’s so sudden and so clearly bad news that she immediately bursts into tears.

Jerry, more than a little startled, moves closer. “What’s wrong?”

She tries to wipe her eyes but that doesn’t do much. “Something’s wrong,” she wails. 

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m— I’m too sick. I don’t—” She breaks from crying to gag into the bucket again, though at this point the only thing left is yellow bile that stings her abused throat on its way up and out. Only after a moment of worried silence do the spasms twisting her stomach relent enough to let her breathe normally again, though her sobs complicate the effort. 

Jerry pulls her spent body close to his chest, wiping the sweat from her forehead. 

“I don’t know why this is happening to me,” she whispers miserably, her voice choked with tears. 

“Diana,” Jerry says with a quiet urgency. “What  _ is _ happening?”

So she wipes her nose and tries her best to explain how she has felt these last few weeks, how her symptoms started out normal (though does she know what normal feels like? Will she ever?) and then all of a sudden became so much worse. Her words come out clumsy and disjointed but he understands her anyway, just listening as she talks, holding her tight with a serious look about him. 

“I’m scared that this is my fault,” she whispers finally into his shirt. By now her sobs have faded but for a second they threaten to return. “I’m scared at what I’m going to do next if— if I keep feeling like this.”

Jerry doesn’t meet her eyes when he says, “Then we’ll go to the doctor.”

Immediately fear floods her veins and she freezes, her spine straightening to face him. “No,” she says, panic rising in her throat. “No, we can’t. I can’t go to another doctor. Jerry, don’t make me—”

Jerry sighs and rubs a tired hand over his face. “Diana, if you’re sick…” he swallows. “We have no choice.”

“But the money, Jerry.” 

Doctors cost money. Medicine costs even more. The nurse that checks on Diana every other week is a charity service funded by churches and women’s societies similar to ones Eliza Barry takes part in. Anything more than that would be taken out of the meager savings they’ve accumulated over the last few weeks to pay for things like baby clothes and bottles and nappies. The Royal Victoria Hospital offers free assistance to the needy at times, but there’s still the question of medicine. 

“I don’t know how to help you!” Jerry exclaims, his voice suddenly raised and frustrated. “You just told me you don’t know what you’ll do. Don’t say something like that and not expect me to worry. We  _ have  _ to do something.”

Torn, Diana considers her two options: stay feeling as bad as she does now, and possibly slip backwards even further into darker spaces than she ever wants to return to; or face not only a doctor, but a hospital, and people in a room staring at her like everything is her fault.

She knows the decision Ms. Rhodes would tell her to make. But knowing what she should do and working through the fear to actually do it are two different things. 

Still, she has to try. 

Hanging her head and squeezing her eyes shut, Diana says, “If— if you go with me, I’ll go.”

Jerry lets out a heavy breath of air and squeezes her tightly. “Okay. Good.”

“I’m so tired of always causing these problems,” she admits quietly, her voice choked with tears threatening to make a reappearance. “It’s always me. Ever since we were children.”

“ _ Rgard ça, mon amour,  _ not always you.” He lightly taps his ankle. “Remember?”

“I don’t deserve you,” says Diana. 

“It will all be okay,  _ mon oisillon. _ ” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! Follow me on tumblr if you'd like @antspaul :) 
> 
> Just a quick note: I live in the United States where there are currently mass protests organizing against police and other kinds of structural violence against black people. there are things that everyone can do to help! Here is a helpful link showing your options: https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/
> 
> Black lives matter. 
> 
> Your history fact, in accordance with the protests, is a little piece of black Montreal history: the Sainte-Cunégonde mentioned in this chapter was a municipality and then a neighborhood of Montreal once it was annexed. At the turn of the century, Sainte-Cunégonde became known as Little Burgundy where it was home to a black community, many of whom where the descendants of American slaves who escaped runaway slave laws in Canada.


	8. Thursday, March 16 and Monday March 27, 1906

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana and Cole take a walk. Jerry puts himself in danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many thanks to phoebe and gus as usual :) they are truly the best. bless their hearts. 
> 
> triggers for this chapter: allusion to miscarriage and eating disorder behavior (nothing too major), violence

Right on time, there’s a knock on her door. Diana gently raises herself off the bed and pads over to answer it. Opening the door, Diana steps aside to let Cole in. 

“Hello, Cole,” she says as they embrace. 

“Hello, Diana.” He steps back and takes in her outfit. “Are we going somewhere?”

Diana has her boots on and her shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. “I was hoping we could go for a short stroll before tea.”

“Oh. Of course.” Cole straightens his coat and adjusts his hat, an elegant top hat, pitch black to match his vest. Then he offers his arm. “I’m always up for an excursion. Shall we go?”

Leaving Anges Street, the pair head down Saint-Antoine Street towards Western Square, only a short distance away so as to not strain Diana further. 

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better,” Cole remarks.

“We went to the doctor on Sunday,” says Diana. “They gave me some advice and it’s been extremely helpful so far.”

Cole eyes at her with concern. His arm becomes steadier for her to hold onto. “I didn’t realize you were sick enough to see a doctor.”

He understands the true desperation that someone in their position must feel to seek medical help of that sort.    
  


“Yes, well, I wasn’t getting any better. And Jerry worries so.”

“Was it very expensive?” Cole asks. 

Diana fixes him with a cross look because she knows as well as he does where he’s going with that. “Before you offer any money, the Royal Victoria Hospital has charity services. We had to wait for a doctor nearly all day, but they saw us in the end free of charge.”

“Touche,” Cole says, not ashamed in the least. “You know me well.”

She chuckles. 

Cole continues as they turn onto Atwater Avenue, “What exactly did they tell you at the hospital?”

It’s a question she had anticipated but not one she prepared for particularly decisively. 

“Well…” Diana trails off. Her gut reaction tells her to avoid the question. But considering the consequences of her past secrecies, in a moment of strength, she decides to embrace vulnerability. “My morning sickness— it’s more severe than it should be.”

Cole nearly halts in his shoes— he actually does, for a split second— and he grins widely. “Your mor— oh! You’re pregnant!”

Diana’s face burns but she can’t keep the smile from her face. “Yes. Almost three months now.”

“Wow,” Cole says, his voice thick with wonder. “A baby. I’m so happy for you and Jerry. You’ll make the most marvellous parents.”

“Thank you, Cole.”

As grateful as his compliment makes her, Diana doesn’t like to dwell on praise so she keeps moving them forward, perhaps a little too energetically for her still-exhausted body. 

“So they told you all that when you went to the hospital?” 

“Ah, no, actually,” answers Diana. “I’ve known for— well, goodness, it’s been about a month.” 

Cole chuckles at that. “Oh. That makes a lot of sense.”

“How so?” she asks, curious now.

He squints into the distance. “Last week, when I walked you home, and then told Jerry you weren’t feeling well, there was a… moment, or something, between you two. A look you shared, I don’t know. I could just tell there was something more going on that I didn’t know about. This makes a lot of sense, though.”

Diana takes a moment to remember what moment exactly Cole speaks of. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you then.”

“It’s alright.” Cole laughs, good-natured as ever. “Everything in its own time, right?”

Vulnerability, Diana reminds herself. “It’s not just that. To be honest I was afraid to tell you.”

“Whatever for?”

She swallows. “I didn’t want to tell everyone and then for something to…  _ happen _ .”

The implication is clear. Cole stops them in front of a butcher shop. Grasping her hands tightly in his own, he gives her a reassuring smile. “Thank you for telling me now. And I’m sure nothing like that will happen.”

Diana returns his smile, if perhaps a little reluctantly, and moves them along. “Women lose their babies all the time. It happens everyday.”

She does not say,  _ It happened to me _ . Vulnerability aside, there are some things Cole doesn’t need to know. There are some things she herself must cope with first. Maybe one day she’ll tell him but today she’s been vulnerable enough. 

What she says instead is this: “It happened to a family at Jerry’s factory. The Byrnes.”

“How very tragic for them,” Cole says, clearly removed. “Did they tell you the baby was healthy at the hospital?”

“Well, yes,” Diana says. 

“I’m glad. What else did they say? Did they tell you what was the matter?”

Western Square appears in the distance, with its benches and trees a welcome spot of green in an otherwise gray cityscape. Diana’s knees are starting to weaken, so she will appreciate the rest. 

“They said I had… well, they told me the name and I’m afraid I forgot it. It begins with an  _ h _ — hyper-something perhaps? I can’t for the life of me remember,” Diana tells Cole. Her mind hasn’t been as sharp as it usually is recently. “The condition is just what I said: dreadful morning sickness. As a result I became terribly dehydrated and had lost some weight.” 

The Doctor had said,  _ She urgently needs to rehydrate. This means—  _

_ We’ve done this before,  _ Jerry had interrupted. It made her feel small. 

Diana looks down, a little ashamed. “Which, you know, is not good for the baby. So they gave me strict instructions to drink lots of water, and to rest as much as I could.”

The doctor also prescribed a new diet for Diana, handing it to her on a sheet of folded-up paper. Once home, she read through it with no small amount of skepticism before using a pen to circle the instructions she would actually follow (“Eat a small snack in between meals,” “Chew your food slowly”) and cross out those she found too restrictive (“Limit food intake to cold foods” and “Avoid foods with too high an oil content”). 

“Are we going against Doctor’s orders, going on this walk?” Cole asks, a glint in his eye. 

They reach the park and take seats on a metal bench.

Diana cracks a smile. “Well, not exactly. I’ve felt so cooped up, staying inside all day and night. I needed badly to stretch my legs.” A breeze passes through her hair, lifting the small pieces around the sides of her face that don’t fit in the bun at the base of her neck, and she pauses to savor it. Then she continues, “I’ve had to stop giving piano lessons until I get my strength back.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I know how important art is to self-expression.” And Cole looks it, sorry. 

Diana gives him a smile for his genuine concern. “I’ll be fine on that end, I’m sure. The loss of income, I suspect, will hit harder than any loss in creativity.”

She knows what Cole will say before he opens his mouth. 

“And you’re certain you’ll be alright? With money?” 

Cole’s preoccupation with money comes not from his current abundance of it but his once lack of it as a child. Diana’s irritation comes from the opposite scenario.

“Yes, we’ll be fine. I promise.”

“If anything changes—”

“Noted,” Diana says sharply, and then changes the subject so she can avoid strife with who at the moment is her only true friend in this city, at least her only friend who isn’t related to her husband. 

Here’s the truth: If Diana wasn’t pregnant, and they found themselves in a similar situation, she and Jerry would just be getting by. They rely on Diana’s extra income to make ends meet. Without it, and factoring in the extra costs of a baby on the way… well, extra money would be more than welcome. 

But Eliza Barry raised her daughter to be proud. That part of Diana, at least, has not been lost to circumstance. 

~

Seeing his wife suffer in new and tragic ways has been an all too frequent experience in the six years they’ve spent together in some capacity. Pain and secrecy played central roles in the first three years of their relationship and in the last year this seems to be the case yet again. 

Still, as accustomed to seeing her hurt as he may be, every minute of Diana’s unhappiness cuts him to his core and he’ll do anything to make it stop. Diana struggles to ask and accept help. She gives and gives until she has nothing left for herself. In this regard she’s better now than in the past but she still hides things from everyone, even the one she trusts the most in the world. 

(How he came to be so lucky to be the one who holds that trust, he’ll never know.)

A few weeks after seeing a doctor, the very worst of Diana’s illness seems to have passed, although he’s thought something similar before and was proven sorely wrong. She remains constantly exhausted and loses energy quickly, even after doing nothing but tend to the fire in the oven and taking several naps daily. Some days she makes an effort to wake up with him and be alert when he comes back but her body has the upper hand and manages to lull her back to sleep. 

So Jerry only resists a little when Donny approaches him, in the thirteenth week of Diana’s pregnancy, with another fight. 

They walk together along the corridor leading to B&H Tobacco’s exit with the other three hundred men. When they finally make it outside, the sun sits just beyond the horizon and already the cold bite of night hangs in the air. 

At first, Jerry’s as dismissive as ever. “I don’t do that anymore. You know that. Sorry.”

But Donny continues to push, which means he must be very desperate. “Come on, ya loafer, I really need you on this one.”

“Why me?” Jerry asks, gesturing to the many factory workers around them, all heading in different directions to one slum or another. “Three hundred other men work here who are as stupid and poor as us.”

“Sure, but they ain’t as strong or fast as you.”

Jerry scoffs. 

Donny continues, “We promised it’d be a good fight. A Heinie and a Frog. That’s what people bet on. You’re the best Froggy I know.” 

Sighing, Jerry concedes. “What’s the money?”

“It’s really good money. Best I ever heard.”

“How much?”

Donny smiles real big. “Twenty for you if you win.”

That has Jerry’s eyebrows all the way up to his hairline— that’s two week’s pay. For a moment he still considers refusing. But it’s too much to say no to. “If you think I can win…”

“If ya don’t I still give ya half,” says Donny which tells Jerry all he needs to know about the fight. Donny needs a body willing to stand in the ring and get busted. “Deal?”

“Okay, deal.” Jerry sighs as they shake hands. 

Donny’s eyes and Chesire grin carry more mischief than Jerry feels comfortable seeing. 

“I knew you’d come through,” Donny says. “We gotta hurry though. It’s in that ring near Nazareth. The new one, ya know. In Griffintown.”

He doesn’t know it, not exactly, but he’s fought most of his fights in Griffintown which is standard for Donny the Irishman. They walk to a tram station a block away where they board a crowded car. Donny pays Jerry’s fare which is more than he expected but not unappreciated.

When the hop off the tram at Nazareth Street, Jerry spots multiple men in threes and fours walking towards one building in particular. Donny directs the two of them the same way.

An old pair of boots has been shoved under the doors, wedging them open permanently. Noise from inside— boisterous, violent, masculine— spills out dangerously onto the street. Though he has never set foot in this ring before, Jerry knows without a doubt what kind of place it is. He’d recognize sounds like those anywear, the grunt of wind being forcefully knocked from lungs, flesh hitting flesh, jeers in rhythm. 

“They’re not trying to hide anything, are they?” Jerry quietly remarks to Donny.

“Naw, we’re going legit, ain’t we, Baynard?” Donny says back. “The gang, that Irish one, owns the books on this one so the bulls let it alone.”

Jerry exhales slowly. “Very reassuring,” he says under his breath.

“Hey, why do you think the money’s so good? You should be thanking me for this golden opportunity.”

“I’ll thank you when I’m at home in bed with my wife.”

“How ya gonna do it then? Am I joining ya?” Donny laughs at the disgruntled look on Jerry’s face. “You’ll do good, Baynard.” 

Donny has the nerve then to look a little nervous. They cross the threshold and finally Jerry can see the full inside of the joint, which is much larger than it looked on the outside. At least a hundred men crowd the wide space and they stand in groups, arguing or laughing loudly with one another. There’s a bar in a corner with three barmen pouring liquor for men with red faces struggling to keep themselves upright.

In the corner of the room, he spots a fighter drinking from his worn silver canteen, and suddenly Jerry understands that Donny has been avoiding details this whole time. 

_ A Heinie and a Frog _ . Of course Graff is here. 

Jerry grabs Donny by the shirt and pulls him aside before the other man can slip away to talk to the bookie or for any other excuse. 

“You didn’t tell me it was him,” Jerry says through clenched teeth. 

“Would ya still’ve come?” 

“ _ Sacrament,  _ Donny, you should have warned me!” 

“You’ll be good in the end, Baynard,” Donny insists, and pulls back from Jerry’s grasp. “Like always.”

“Like last time? I almost died, you idiot!” He takes a step away from Donny. “I shouldn’t even be here. I promised Diana I wouldn’t.” 

Jerry turns and heads back towards the door. But before he can step outside and put this whole lapse in judgement behind him, Donny calls out, “Come on, you’re really gonna turn ya back on a guaranteed ten dollars?” 

He should keep walking and go home to Diana, read and book and catch up on sleep. But then he thinks about that quiet little room and the baby in his wife’s belly and how soon their quiet little room will be quiet no longer. He wants to give their child everything that he can. And even ten dollars would go very far for that. 

So Jerry finds himself turning around to face Donny again, his head shaking as he walks back. “You must really need this fight.”

“Where am I gonna find a Frog in Griffintown?”

Jerry wonders if Donny is so desperate because no one else with the will to live will face Graff. Jerry has also seen in the last few months a surge in anti-French sentiment in Griffintown. The Irish think the poor French are driving them out of Griffintown, away from their beloved St. Ann’s Church, and they might be right. At any rate, Donny doesn’t speak French. 

He groans and rolls his eyes. “When am I up?”

Donny pulls a rusted pocket watch from his coat and clicks it open. “Ten minutes. Better warm up, Baynard.”

Donny leads Jerry around the ring, towards where Graff sits along with men who Jerry assumes are the other fighters. He recognizes one or two of them from the street prizefights he’s done but no one but the man he’s there to fight raises the same amount of fear in him, leaves his heart thumping loudly, impending in his ears. 

A young boy with ruddy blonde hair approaches them to offer tape and a towel for a coin or two. Jerry hands him the money and Donny helps him wrap his knuckles and stretch his arms. Donny and Jerry even exchange a few practice swings to get his blood pumping and reflexes quick. With Donny more attentive than he’s ever been, Jerry’s suspicions grow. Especially with Bernhard Graff breathing down his neck the whole ten minutes before they go up. 

As uneasy as Jerry feels about the whole situation, excitement courses through his veins the second he steps into the ring. There’s something electric about the first moment of a fight, when the world outside the ring disappears and only him, his opponent, and the uncertain imminence of the first blow remain. 

As they face each other and the referee counts them down to the fight’s start, Graff swaggers with exaggerated confidence, shifting from foot to unbothered foot like the ring is his home. He’s comfortable here. At ease. In his element. No wonder, really, with his presence. That Jerry didn’t go running at first sight in January is a credit to his own character. 

Still, though, Graff might have physical intimidation and raw strength on his side, but that’s not all there is to a fighter. There’s speed, and stamina. Determination. The ability to think clearly in the midst of it all despite the ringing in your ears and the blood leaking from your nose and lip. 

And sure, Jerry was beat to the ground last time they faced each other. But this isn’t last time. Jerry has more to fight for now. This ring, with its lighting and proper, dry floors are the thing farthest removed from an unsophisticated prizefight on the street corner of a slum. 

Then the referee lifts his hand and the fight begins. Immediately Jerry starts to run strategies through his mind for beating Graff. He’s going to have to try harder this time if he wants to make it home safe, that much is clear. 

Jerry doesn’t move at first, just plants his feet firmly on the ground and holds his arms in front of his face. Graff snarls in return, giving Jerry a full view of his white teeth. It’s unexpected, how white they are, and the detail distracts him long enough for the other man to charge. 

Just in time, Jerry ducks out of the way and Graff stumbles, his nostrils flared slightly but the steel hasn’t left his eyes. He wastes no time in charging once again. Jerry dodges like before, his back pressed into the rubber rope that lines the ring. 

The crowd makes noises of restlessness. One man calls out, “Hit each other already!” and those around him chorus in agreement. 

_ Twenty dollars _ , Jerry thinks,  _ Ten at the least. _ This time, he charges at Graff. 

The other man doesn’t duck out of the way, but instead rushes back, effectively trapping Jerry in place, his face redder every second. Finally, he throws a punch aimed at Jerry’s juglar. The ropes have just enough give to allow Jerry to lean back. The punch still lands, but hurts less. 

“Too easy. Just like last time.” Graff hisses at him. 

Pinned to the ropes, Jerry isn’t in a great place to rely entirely on defense, and there’s still at least a minute before Graff starts to become fatigued. So, Jerry shrugs and smiles, striking him as hard as he can in the stomach for leverage. With his fist meeting nothing but hard muscle, Jerry’s knuckles probably suffer more damage than Graff himself, but the force of the punches managed to push his opponent back half a foot. Enough room for Jerry to remove himself from his position and recoup at the center of the ring as the bell rings, signalling the end of the first round.

Donny rushes over to Jerry from his spot somewhere in the crowd, climbing on the other side of the ropes and shoving a glass of water that must be from the bar in his face. 

“You got a strategy, Baynard?” Donny whispers. 

Jerry nods as he thirstily drinks the water. 

“What is it, then? You trying to win?”

“Well, I’m not trying to lose,” Jerry replies, shooting Donny a look that the other man returns. 

“Strategy, Baynard. Come on.”

Jerry leans in closer to make sure that no one can hear him, a moot point with the level of sound already present in the room. “He’s big but he’s got no stamina. I bet if I keep dodging I can tire him out long enough to get him down.” 

“Tell you what, Baynard, that works and I’ll give you five extra dollars.”

Jerry takes one more swig of the water before handing the canteen back to Donny. “If I win you owe me a real drink.”

The ref announces the end of the break and Jerry and Graff turn back around. Then the bells rings and round two begins.

Graff wastes no time in clamouring towards Jerry with arms swinging. Jerry blocks a few punches but a few more hit. He holds his own, though, and lands as many as he can on Graff as well. By the time Graff slows his rhythm and shows signs of fatigue, both of their faces are bloodied and bruised. 

Graff slows his punches, intentionally or maybe not. The easier it is to dodge him, the easier he is to hit. 

After one particularly successful hit, Jerry gets cocky. “Just like last time, then?” he says mockingly.

Graff wipes the blood from his nose as his face deepens into a red Jerry didn’t know was humanly possible and then he charges Jerry and puts all his force into one punch right at his rib cage. Just in the moment Jerry thought he might actually win, he finds himself stumbling to the ground, pain like he’s never felt before exploding on his side. 

Jerry’s down for the count and they both know it but Graff isn’t done yet. The German man kicks at his stomach and legs, and once at his forehead, with a force typically discouraged in any civilized prizefight. He doesn’t stop until someone pulls him away and he’s quickly declared the winner. 

But all that fades into the background, replaced by a ringing in Jerry’s ears that only grows louder with the black spots clouding his vision. 

  
_ I’m going to die for ten dollars _ , he thinks as the world turns to black.  _ Diana is going to kill me. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i've been mia for a month! i told myself i would update more frequently now that i have this written and all but alas, i am a fool. i'll make up for it by posting another chapter today :) 
> 
> montreal fact: the area of town where donny and jerry are in in this chapter is griffintown, the traditional irish catholic ethnic enclave. irish immigrants in the first half of the nineteenth century settled there because the land was cheap (it flooded a lot) and there were jobs in the nearby canal. this neighborhood is actually the subject of my thesis so i wanted to slip it in there somehow!
> 
> next chapter, we see jerry's condition.


	9. Tuesday, March 28, 1906

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerry isn't doing well, and neither is Diana. She goes to a place she never thought she'd return. In 1905, Diana gets sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you gus and phoebe! i love you and cherish your support
> 
> triggers for this chapter: pretty major this time. semi-graphic depiction of miscarriage, bingeing and purging (more graphic about bingeing than purging), other eating disorder behavior, bodily injury

Jerry wakes up, dazed and confused, unsure about where he is or how much time has passed. It feels like mere seconds have passed since his brutal beating at the hands of Bernhard Graff. But the boisterous sound of restless men and the smell of sweat, blood, and booze no longer fill the air which means he can’t still be in the ring. 

He tries to sit up, honestly amazed he’s still alive, but a hand gently pushes him back down. 

“ _Non_ ,” a soft voice tells him. _No._ “ _Rester_ .” _Stay._

Jerry can only open his eyes a crack before the light hurts too much and he must close them again. 

“Turn off the lamp,” the voice orders someone. “The light is too much for his eyes.”

Jerry can sense the room grow darker and he tries again to open his eyes. “Gabe?” he manages to croak out. 

“ _Bonjour, frérot,_ ” Gabe says. Jerry still can’t see great but he knows there’s a smirk on Gabe’s lips. “You scared the shit out of us, do you know that?”

“Where…” Jerry coughs. His chest feels heavy, like he can’t take a full breath. “...am I?”

“At my place,” Gabe says. There’s a tremor to his voice behind his usual firmness.

“I brought ya here,” another voice says. Donny. “I’m really sorry I made ya do the fight, really, I—” 

“You’re not helping,” Gabe hisses and Donny shuts up.

Jerry doesn’t understand how Donny knew to bring him to Gabe’s but thinking about it makes the pounding in his head worse. 

He nods, and then jumps as a cold cloth is pressed to his right eye. 

“ _Désolé,”_ Gabe says, pressing the cloth again. 

Jerry’s head starts to spin. “Diana?” he breathes out. 

“Your friend is going to get her,” Gabe tells him. “We were only waiting to see that you weren’t dead before he went.”

“ _Non_ ,” Jerry protests drowsily. “ _Elle va_ …” 

Gabe grabs his arm. “Stay awake, _frérot_ , don’t—”

But there’s nothing Jerry can do to stop the darkness from taking him back under once more. 

~

Diana’s heart drops through the floor when she hears someone knock at her door. It’s two hours past when her husband is due to be home and he’s nowhere to be seen. 

She’s slow to stand up and pull a shawl around her nightdress and the knocking comes again, this time more urgent and loud. It doesn’t help the pit in her stomach to open the door and find Donny there, looking frazzled and apologetic. 

“Hello, Mrs. Baynard,” he says. There’s a patch of blood on his shirt. 

“Donny,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady. “What are you doing here? Where’s Jerry?”

He looks at the floor and gulps. “You’d better come quick. Something’s happened.”

As Donny fills her in, all her worst fears are confirmed and it’s all she can do not to strangle him right there. 

“How could you let him fight?” Diana leans against the doorframe for support. “You shouldn’t have let him do that.”

“I know,” says Donny. “But I’m trying to make it right. Honest. Much as I can. That’s why ya gotta come with me. He don’t look so good.”

“I— I can’t,” Diana tells him despondently. “I’m sick, did he tell you that? I can’t walk— where is he?”

“His brother’s house. Off Craig.” 

It’s miles away, two at least. And the tram stopped making trips twenty minutes ago. 

“That’s too far.” 

Donny stands up taller. “I’ll help ya. Carry ya on my shoulder if I have to.” 

Diana looks at him for a beat, and then imagines her husband bleeding out in Gabe’s bed while she stays helpless at home. After that— well. There’s not a real choice, is there?

“Let me put on something more,” she says decidedly. “Then we’ll go.” 

~

The fatigue comes quick and stays with her on their walk to Gabe’s house but something in her makes her push through it. She has no choice. Donny helps but there’s only so much he can do to help. Nausea comes, as it always does, but who in her situation could keep their stomach calm? 

“Mrs. Baynard, you feeling alright?” Donny asks her, looking down with concern in his eyes. Despite the chill in the air sweat drops down his face. He’s as scared as she is. 

“Yes,” she replies, briefly squeezing her eyes shut and taking a deep breath through her mouth. “I’ll feel better when we get there.” 

A hundred different images flash through her mind at any given moment, each featuring Jerry, passed out in Gabe’s bed, with every new scenario more severe than the last. The uncertainty makes her feel worse than anything else. 

“Okay then.” 

Diana hangs on to Donny’s arm, using his physical strength to keep her energy up. 

“It’s coming up here,” he tells her after a heavy pause. 

“How did you know where to take him?” 

Gabe doesn’t exactly run in the same circles as salt of the earth street rat Donny Lynch. 

Donny gives a big sigh. “Bay- your husband— he told me to right after the, uh, the fight. When he woke up.”

“He’s awake?”

“Dunno. Was, then wasn’t. Wasn’t when I left. Probably don’t even remember telling me that.” 

“Donny.” She stops them right in the middle of the sidewalk, and looks at his face directly, forcing eye contact that he avoids. “Will my husband live?”

His gaze cast down on the muddied stones beneath their feet, Donny tells her, “I really hope so, Mrs. Baynard.”

His answer doesn’t exactly reassure her. 

They walk the next block to Gabe’s place in hurried silence. When they arrive, Donny knocks on the door and stands back to wait. Diana isn’t so patient and barges in. 

Gabe stands at the end of the short hallway leading from the door to the main living area, and he turns around in surprise. “Diana—”

“Where is he?” she’s quick to demand.

Gabe lets out a slow breath and steps back, gesturing to the room with a sweep of his hand. 

She rushes in, Donny and Gabe on her tail, to see Jerry laying on Gabe’s sofa, a ragged blanket thrown over his body. A white cloth, made light pink with blood, wraps around his forehead. The edges of a bright red gash peek out from the top and bottom of the bandage, and a few other scraps and bruises marr his cheeks. Jerry’s face, usually tanned and full of life, is a horrible pallid color. The man shivering underneath Gabe’s blanket barely resembles the man she married three years ago. 

Diana rushes to his side, grabbing his hand and squeezing it tightly. “Darling, I’m here,” she whispers into his ear. 

Jerry doesn’t respond, only shifts in his sleep. A moan escapes his lips. 

A hand touches her shoulder gently. “He was awake for a moment and asked for you,” Gabe says.

“For me?” She turns around, not letting go of Jerry’s hand. “What did he say exactly?”

“Only your name.” 

“That’s all?”

Gabe sighs. “He was kicked in the head, Diana. When he awakes he’s not so… _conscient._ ”

She looks back at Jerry’s face, which is still contorted in pain in his sleep. 

Donny clears his throat. She had nearly forgotten he was here. 

“Maybe I should get out of here,” Donny says. 

With a decisive nod, Diana says, “Yes. You’ve done enough.”

Her eyes still trained on her husband, Diana only hears him footsteps as they retreat to the door. 

“I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t have made him fight,” Donny says one last time. And then he’s outside, back into the cold night air off to who knows where. 

Diana both resents and is glad for his departure. They could use the help, Diana knows, as she herself, the bedridden pregnant woman, can only offer so much. At the same time she can barely stand to look at Donny. If she had been able to walk the distance to Gabe's building on her own safely, she would have. 

She closes her eyes and takes a breath, composing herself. Then she opens them and stands up abruptly, swaying a little on her feet. "Have you called for the doctor yet?"

Gabe shakes his head. "No, we'll have to wait for morning."

"What if something happens before morning? We have to get help now."

"What is it now, midnight? Later?" Gabe rubs at his temples with a hand, his words clipped and irritated. "The charity doctor starts rounds at seven. Do you have the money for a private doctor? I don't."

She presses her lips together tightly and glances back at Jerry. "We have to do _something_ ," she says after a moment. "I can't just watch him helplessly die. I won't do it!"

"No one is asking you to, Diana!" 

Diana flinches at his outburst and Gabe deflates. 

"I'm sorry things are like this. Truly, I am. He's your husband, but he's my brother. It breaks my heart to see him like this as much as yours." He exhales shakily. "We don't have a choice."

Swallowing, she asks in a small voice, "Then what should I do?"

"Just—" He shakes his head and paces a few steps. The floorboards creak, uneasy, under his gait and even though Gabe is several years older than her and Jerry, he looks in that moment horribly young. "Just be there at his side. That's all we can do to help him now." 

She sighs and nods.

Diana crouches next to Jerry, holding fast onto his clammy hand. Gabe tries to busy himself elsewhere, refilling buckets with water or brewing tea or sweeping the floor. Gabe's apartment, impressive despite its small size in the same way as Cole's, is already sparkling clean and anything he does is time wasted. Still, Diana sympathizes with the desire to distract from the pain of the present. Feels that familiar itch at the back of her mind. 

When Gabe can't find something to do he sits on the carpet across from the couch where Jerry lays and just watches as Diana whispers soft words of encouragement and love into her husband's ear. Private words, about the baby and memories she has of Jerry, but Diana doesn't mind Gabe watching. He probably can't hear her anyway. 

Three hours pass and Diana is dead tired, resting her head against the cushions holding Jerry up. She dozes off, only for a second, when she hears "Diana?" 

She bolts upright, but the voice wasn't Gabe's so she nearly dismisses it as a partial dream when she notices Jerry's eyes are open, squinting but noticeably awake. 

"You're here," he croaks.

Diana nods with vigor. "Of course I am, darling." 

"You didn't have to…”

Gabe joins them, crouching behind Diana. Jerry doesn't appear to notice him, though, as his eyes stay trained on her. 

"I did," Diana says. "I couldn't just leave you at the mercy of this one." She nods towards Gabe. 

Jerry cracks a smile and Diana realizes how cracked his lips are. 

"Diana..." Jerry moves a hand to caress her cheek. "I'm sorry."

Diana catches the hand, placing a kiss on his palm before moving it back down to rest on his stomach. "Save your energy."

He nods, eyes flickering shut, and when his breathing steadies they know he's lost consciousness once again. 

"He's coherent, at least." Gabe stands. "I'll go get him a fresh towel."

He grabs the towel from Jerry's forehead, which is tinted red from his head wound, and submerges it in one of the buckets of water on his kitchen table.

"Gabe," Diana says, "Thank you."

Grimly, Gabe nods. Then he goes back to ringing the towel out. 

Jerry doesn't wake up again for the rest of the night, though he tosses and turns in pain at times. Her heart hurts for him. It's almost a relief when the first rays of the morning sun touch the horizon and Gabe leaves to alert the doctor. 

When he returns, he tells her the charity doctor will be there by eleven a.m.

Diana frowns but knows she should be thankful the doctor's making time for them today at all. "How did you find him so quickly?"

Gabe shrugs. "He always grabs a bagel from a bakery on Craig before going to his first visit. Not so far from here." He pulls out a brown bag from his coat. "Speaking of bagels, I got you one. Here."

She takes it eagerly. "Thank you." 

The bagel disappears in less than a minute. Diana tries not to be self conscious about it but that itch hasn't left and her cheeks heat up. 

Chewing on his own bagel, Gabe says, "The tram is running by now. Maybe you should go home and sleep a bit." 

She protests at first, but her exhaustion wins out in the end and she agrees. 

Gabe walks her the block or so to the depot, and she rides the rest of the way home. The fatigue sets in during the walk from her neighborhood depot to Agnes Street, where she manages until she reaches her own building. Her feet drag on the last few steps until she reaches her front door and immediately collapses on her bed. 

Her eyes only stay closed for ten minutes. She has a horrible dream where Jerry dies before the doctor can get there and it leaves her reeling. When she left Gabe's, she felt almost calm about the whole thing, hopeful that the charity doctor would help them. But now her mind races like it did when Donny walked her to see her husband in the first place and she's willing to do anything to quiet it. 

Closing her eyes to sleep again doesn't work. Her mind and body are at war, her body urging her to sleep while her mind keeps her wide awake. She lacks the focus to read; halfway down a page of Frankenstein she throws the book aside. Everything here reminds her of Jerry. She doesn't know what to do. So for the first time in a year she decides to scratch the itch.

The cabinet and icebox doors yanked open, Diana searches frantically for something, anything to eat. The memory of blissful numbness overrides every other thought, even though all her stomach holds right now is a bagel. Diana pulls out everything edible that she can find. Stale bread. Slightly mushy carrots. Candied apricots. Oats. 

She starts the water to make the oats while furiously chewing on the hard bread. Her jaw starts to hurt but that’s exactly the distraction she needs right now. Soon the bread is gone and Diana reaches for the apricots, as the water has yet to boil. They had intended on saving the candied apricots for a special occasion but that thought is far from her mind now. Her fingers already ache to reach the back of her throat. 

Her hand mindlessly reaches inside the jar to pull out candied apricot after candied apricot. She only catches up to herself when only a single fruit remains, sad and deflated at the bottom of the jar. 

_Think of your old aunt when you eat them,_ Aunt Josephine had said. _Remember you still have family on the Island who love you._

She hasn’t yet stuffed herself to the core and yet her stomach feels heavy and impossibly full. Shame shoots down her spine like a shock. 

Diana covers the last apricot, eyes stinging with regret, and takes the kettle off the burner. The oats, carrots, and jar go back in the pantry where they belong. Diana puts herself to bed and only then does she allow the tears to flow. She cries herself to sleep and this time her eyes stay closed. 

~

1905

Here’s how it starts for the second time.

Diana and Jerry are happy for a good while after they start life in Montreal. They don’t have much but they have each other, and that’s enough at first. Jerry makes more than many of the other families they sit next to at Mass, and Diana easily finds two or three families who want to hire her to teach their daughters piano. Diana held onto her nice clothes from her parents so she doesn’t look so out of place getting off of the streetcar uptown. Jerry even sends Margot a few coins here and there. Montreal, with its bustling streets and foreign familiarity, feels like home. 

Then winter comes, unrelenting and frigid, decreasing Jerry’s hours at the factory by half. They go to Edgar for help, but he’s only a foreman and can’t do anything. 

At the same time, Diana starts to get sick. She promises Jerry that she isn’t doing it to herself, that it happens everyday in the mornings. He’s skeptical, but then she misses her monthly. And, well, it doesn’t take a doctor to know what that means. 

They’re thrilled, of course, but more than anything else Diana feels scared. Maybe Jerry is, too, but they don’t talk about those things. In preparation for the baby, Jerry picks up a small delivery job that keeps him out late at night, leaving Diana to stew in her fears alone by herself for hours on end as she washes clothes, picks through the wheat, and carries buckets to and from the water spout. 

They can barely afford to feed themselves. Babies aren’t cheap. She knows that much. 

And so there she is, three months pregnant, thinking that if she skips lunch, it’s one more meal they can buy for the baby. If she gains a little less weight now, her nice clothes will fit longer and she can play piano at the Donahue’s Valentine’s Day Soirée. 

She’s careful. She plans. She doesn’t say a word to Jerry. She convinces herself that this time, things are different. 

At times she finds herself eating too much and then inadvertently back on her hands and knees, shame twisting in her gut like a knife. Before she never thought about the waste. Now when she sees the ugly pile of half-digested food in the bucket before her, she sees it in terms of money. The loaf of bread she ate then erased cost Jerry three hours of work. They could have saved a dollar if she hadn’t gotten rid of those scones Corinne dropped off. 

As for the damage to her body, Diana finds it easy to excuse the wreckage. Her awful morning sickness would have made her throw it up anyway. Thinner and poorer women than her have delivered healthy children. She must do these things. It won’t matter how healthy the baby is if they can’t feed it. 

One evening Diana sits alone in her bed, as she had all day long, too tired to move and nowhere to be. The baby is four months away at least. Jerry won’t be home for an hour or two. She tries to drift off to sleep, too exhausted for anything else, when the cold feeling of a wet bed touches her inner thighs. Ripping off the covers, Diana sees blood, and a lot of it. But she can’t do anything but stare at it in horror as the dark red spot grows larger and larger and more textured. She knows what is happening. A mother knows.

Jerry finds her like that, frozen in shock and shame, two hours later. Diana has regretted many things in her relationship with Jerry but that moment she might regret the most. The imprint of his face when understanding finally dawned on him will forever be stamped under her eyelids. 

He barely speaks, doesn’t ask her what happened, just grabs the bucket and returns with cold water. Slowly he undresses her and the bed, wiping the blood from her legs and redressing her in his clean nightshirt and the rags she uses for her period. He isn’t able to clean all of the blood from the blanket off, so they have to sleep with it because it’s too cold out not to. 

Neither sleep that night. He holds her as she shivers until morning. Then he leaves the same time he always does, only to come back a short time later with two fares booked for passage back to Avonlea. He doesn’t have to tell her he used the money they were saving for the baby. 

They leave that afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was a lot to get through and i rewrote several parts of it multiple times but i hope you liked it! this is basically rock-bottom for our two faves. after this, there will be a few more flashbacks and such but we are actually nearing the end! you'll see i adjusted the chapter count from 15 to 13. i'm not sure when i'll post the rest but i'll try not to wait a month this time!
> 
> history fact: this is understated in this fic for the purposes of storytelling, but cooking and washing clothes took up the majority of a working-class wife's life. preparing food was much more labor-intensive than it is now, or even was sixty years ago. wheat had to be picked through and shelled, meat was usually not purchased skinned or cleaned, and milk was NOT pasteurized, which caused a lot of health problems, especially for babies. laundry was another problem because it required water to be transported to the home and then disposed of in some way. women had to carry buckets all the way to the pump (if they could afford to pay for clean city water) or to the river/canal if they had to, and then the dirt water had to be disposed of in much the same way. standing water from haphazard urban dumping caused a lot of water-based illnesses (cholera, dysentery, etc) to spread in the poorest parts of the city. fun stuff!
> 
> next chapter: We see Diana and Jerry early in their marriage, and at a critical moment after Jerry's fight.


	10. Wednesday, March 29, 1906

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1903, Diana and Jerry make a decision. In 1906, Diana faces reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: post-binge aftermath and allusion to ed behavior and recovery. nothing extreme. 
> 
> as always, much love to phoebe and gus! if you haven't already, please check out phoebe's fic, Imagining Something Worthwhile (@remylebae on ao3). she's one chapter away from the conclusion and if you enjoy jerry/diana and anne/gilbert then i recommend it :) a few characters from this fic series show up once or twice!

1903 

Jerry comes home smelling of lobster. 

“It doesn’t bother me, you know,” Diana tells him as Jerry unlaces his boots. “I like lobster.”

Jerry pulls his boots off his feet and places them on Diana's trunk, which sits at the end of their bed. "I don't think I can even smell it anymore." He sniffs his shoulder and makes a face. " _ Mautadit _ , never mind." 

She shakes her head and goes back to slicing bread at the counter. The mattress creaks behind her and then a pair of arms wrap around her middle. 

"What are you making?" Jerry asks quietly, his breath in her ear. He places a kiss at the nape of her neck. 

Diana laughs and pushes him back. "Nothing special. There's pâté chinois in the oven. I'll get it out as soon as I'm through with the bread."

"You'd better finish it soon, then," Jerry says, taking a seat behind her at their small table. Only fitting two people, the table is pushed up against their bed and a wall. It doubles as a side table. 

"There." Diana places the slices of bread on the table. "Hand me that cloth, would you?"

He does and she uses the thick cloth to remove the pâté chinois from the oven, placing it next to the bread.

"It smells really good," he tells her. "Just like my mama makes it."

"She's been trying to teach me. I'm not so good at all of this food, you know, but I'm learning." 

Diana serves them two plates and they dig in, Jerry finishing his food quickly. He's always famished after a long, rigorous day at the lobster cannery. 

When he's done, Jerry leans back in his chair and exhales deeply. "I stopped by the post office after work," he says. 

"That's why you were late getting home, then?"

Jerry nudges her with his shoulder. "You never let me get away with anything."

She grins and plants a kiss on his nose. "Did we get anything?"

Jerry pulls an envelope from his jacket pocket. Diana reaches to grab it, but he yanks it out of her reach. She pouts and so he relents, handing her the letter. 

Diana reads the return address. "Corinne?"

"Edgar, actually." 

"Edgar? That's a change. What did he have to say? Is Corinne alright? Has the baby come?"

"I don't know." Jerry squints and nervously itches at the back of his head. "He wrote to offer me a job. At his factory."

"But... that's in Montreal."

Jerry nods. 

"Oh. Well, then." Diana doesn't really know what to say.

"You can read it," Jerry says. "I figured that I could— or you if you wanted to— answer him tonight telling him thanks but no thanks. Should I take your plate?"

Diana nods and he stands up to collect their dishes. "Don't you think that we should maybe consider it before you do?"

That stops Jerry in his tracks. "Really?"

"Why not?"

Jerry submerges the dishes in a bucket of water and quickly returns to the table. "Because Corinne and Edgar live in Montreal, which, if you haven't noticed, is far away from here. From everyone we know."

"I know that. I'm just saying that we should think about it." She pulls the letter from its envelope and scans it. "The money isn't bad. It's more than you make now."

"I saw that." Jerry shakes his head. "But leaving Avonlea?"

Until this moment, Diana has never even considered leaving Avonlea permanently. Sure, once or twice she took up residence in other cities on the island for a month or two. But those moments were never her own choice and they were never meant to last. But now that the option is in her face she can't help but think about it. Moving away from her home, her friends, her family... The thought is overwhelming. At the same time, they have a chance to start fresh somewhere, away from everyone who knows their dirty laundry and from the disapproving looks of her family every time they see her. 

"I've never been to Montreal before," Diana says. "They say that there are as many French as English there. Maybe things wouldn't be as hard for us there as they are here."

"My family has lived on this island for over a hundred years," Jerry says, still unconvinced. 

"We aren't our families, though. Maybe it's time that we build a life for ourselves."

Jerry looks away, clearly deep in thought. Finally, he says, "If I made more money, maybe we could put some away to start a family someday."

Diana smiles. Maybe he hasn't quite latched onto the idea yet, but she knows he will. 

She can't wait to see the look on her mother's face when she finds out.

~

1906

She wakes up at ten the next morning, head pounding, feeling much the same way as she, Anne, and Cole always did the morning after one of Aunt Josephine’s soirees. The back of throat stings, parched, and her tongue sits heavy in her mouth— remnants of tears shed hours earlier. Two hours isn’t enough to be truly rested but a weight has lifted and she’s calmer now. The pit in her stomach no longer makes her hand twitch to bring back that familiar empty numbness. 

The morning sun fills the room, reminding Diana that the doctor will soon visit Gabe’s house. If she wants to be there in time, she must depart for the tram soon. On the other hand, she came dangerously close to relapsing this very morning and needs to ensure that her emotions are in check before anything else happens. 

The cabinet door hinges slightly ajar, and from the bed Diana sees the jar containing one lonely apricot at the bottom. A sudden twinge of guilt threatens to unravel her again, but Diana squeezes her eyes shut and takes a death breath to clear her head. She practices an exercise Ms. Rhodes taught her the first time she went through treatment. Visualize someone she loves. Focus on the warmth she feels for them. Imagine that warmth, redirected at herself. See herself as they see her. Forgive herself. 

Her mind lies to her sometimes but ultimately she knows Aunt Josephine, of all people, would not want her to feel bad about herself. 

_Think of your old aunt when you eat them..._ _Remember you still have family on the Island who love you._

So she pulls herself out of bed with as much energy as she can muster and starts a small fire in the oven to warm her stove. She’ll make a bowl of oats and eat it before she goes. As she waits she pulls a piece of paper and her only pen from her chest and places it squarely on the table. The words pour out of her, and she writes about everything, from her insecurities to her fears to small, more private details about her daily life. Diana truly lets go of the urge to hide behind the facade that nothing bothers her, that nothing is wrong. Through writing, truths emerge that not even she knew about herself. 

By the time that hot steam makes her kettle sing, Diana holds in her hands a letter to Aunt Josephine, which she places in an envelope to mail later that day. 

The envelope slides into her pocket as she hurries to eat breakfast and get back to her husband. It’s nearly 10:30 when she finally departs, head still aching but heart remarkably still intact. 

~

When Diana opens the door to Gabe’s apartment, Jerry sits up on Gabe’s couch, sipping at a large, steaming mug. Much of the color has returned to his face and he seems to be alert. 

Diana throws her basket and hat down, rushing over to him. 

His eyes light up upon seeing her. “Diana!” 

His voice is hoarse but he’s awake. Diana throws her arms around him, only to quickly release him when his groan reminds her of his still fragile state. 

“I was so worried,” she tells him, squeezing his hand gently. “Have you been awake for long?”

He shakes his head. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up,” she says. 

Jerry smiles faintly. “Gabe said you went home to rest. You have to stay healthy for the baby.”

“You really scared me, you know.”

His eyes cast downward, he says, “I know. I’m sorry. I only thought…” 

He doesn’t continue and for a moment neither he nor Diana say a word. 

She eventually sighs. “Where is Gabe?”

Jerry gestures to the back of the couch with his head, then winces like he regrets it. “Back there. I told him to sleep once the doctor left.”

“The doctor’s already been here? What did he say?”

Jerry shrugs. “Gabe would know better.”

So Diana goes to wake up Gabe, who is sprawled out ungraciously on the hard, wooden floor behind his couch, dead asleep. She nudges him with her foot. 

He springs upward with a start, only to slump back down once he opens his eyes.

“You’re back.”

“Why aren’t you in your bed?” she asks. 

“We put him there at first last night,” Gabe explains, rubbing at his eyes drowsily. “Haven’t had the time to put on sheets that  _ aren’t _ covered in blood.”

The return of Gabe’s usual snarkiness means that Jerry’s situation can’t be that dire. 

“Jerry said the doctor came early.”

Gabe yawns and sits up, back against the wall. He explains to her what the doctor said, that Jerry has a few badly bruised ribs and nasty wounds, as well as a concussion and a sprained ankle, and will need several weeks of bedrest before going back to work part-time. If the factory even takes him back, which is not guaranteed. 

“I suppose you’ll be spending plenty of quality time together in the next few weeks,” Gabe says with a sleepy grin. 

She herself is still technically on bedrest, although that has certainly been thrown into the mud over the last twelve hours. 

“I suppose so.”

Gabe goes back to sleep. Diana spends the rest of the morning and afternoon caring for her husband. He comes home later that evening, riding home on the last tram of the evening, supported by Gabe and Diana, who really should not be physically supporting anyone in her condition, but Jerry’s hurt ankle requires it. 

They arrive home to their small one room apartment. Gabe helps Jerry into his bed and then bids them both goodbye, shutting the door firmly behind him and leaving them alone together in the silence. Both Jerry and Diana seem to have narrowly escaped death in the last month. Neither can work or go somewhere other than their apartment so they’ll be spending the next two weeks there together. 

Jerry dozes off quickly. Diana sits at the kitchen table, hands pressed against her stomach, unsure what to do next. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! i really appreciate all of your kind reviews and kudos. and hmu on tumblr @antspaul! i love talking to you all there. we've gotten past the most angsty part of the fic but these two are gonna be on the sad train for a while longer lol
> 
> historical fact: uhhhhh jerry and diana in the first part of this chapter were living in a world without canned tuna. jerry and diana in the second part of this chapter were living in a world where canned tuna was available at last, but like, only if you lived in australia. yes i am aware that corinne ate canned tuna like two chapters ago, it's called suspension of disbelief. 
> 
> next chapter, these two finally have a conversation and communicate (almost). hey if they weren't repressed i wouldn't be writing them


	11. Saturday, March 31, 1906

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerry and Diana have a long-overdue conversation. Cole has news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many thanks to phoebe and gus <3 you all inspire me to keep writing with your friendship and support!
> 
> warnings: discussion of miscarriage, bingeing, purging, other eating disorder behavior, character death

Donny brings a modest box of fish, rice, and potatoes to their front door the next day, as well as a folded-up piece of paper. He doesn’t stick around for long, just greets Diana and wishes Jerry well, before sliding the paper into Diana’s hands and leaving. 

She unfolds it, only to find ten two-dollar bills inside. 

She gasps, and Jerry perks up from bed.

“What is it?” he asks. 

“Twenty dollars,” she says. “There’s no way Donny has this kind of money. I should catch him before he gets too far." 

"Put it away. I did enough to earn it, I think," Jerry says. "That's the money he promised me for the fight. Well, more. I suppose he feels bad."

Diana stares at the money in her hand for a long time. This kind of money, the weight of the bills in her hand, has become unfamiliar to her. Twenty dollars for a fight that Jerry lost? No wonder he agreed to it. Even though Jerry has more than earned the money, a pang of guilt still hits her stomach as she places the bills in the savings jar with the rest of their funds. No one has any resources around here. For Donny to have given up that much money, money no one was asking for-- well, it must have taken a lot. She wonders who he was in trouble with

Anyway, the box is much appreciated, especially the fish and potatoes. Even when they could afford to buy food at Ste. Anne's, the market has been too far away for Diana in her condition to reach, and March brought Jerry longer hours at the tobacco factory, and he would get off too late to get anything of substance. That evening, with her belly full of fish and rice stew, she says a prayer for the neighborhood society that undoubtedly arranged for the box's delivery. 

Jerry sleeps almost all day long for the first two days that he is home. On the third he feels better and has more energy, though his head starts to ache if he has to focus on anything for too long, so by late afternoon he goes back to bed, at least to rest his body. He tries to stay awake for Diana, much like she did for him a few weeks earlier when she was much more fragile, especially since his eyes start to droop before dinner begins to be prepared. Neither of them leave their small room. 

As his health improves, Diana's relief wanes, replaced by an anger that she can't quite pin down or explain. Something is in the air, something that needs to be said, but for the first four days it just hangs there. 

On the first day of April, five days since Jerry came home, everything finally comes to a head. 

The light from their window tints their room a light yellow-orange and Diana starts to prepare supper. Jerry sits in a chair behind her, his eyes on her back as she pokes at the smoking wood in their oven. 

Diana exhales deeply as she stands up straight and scoops a cup of rice from the sack that Donny had given them, but her grips falters and the ceramic mug slips from her hand and lands on the floor. The handle shatters from the base of the mug and rice spills everywhere, under the stove and in the crevices of their wood floors. 

"Damn it!" she exclaims loudly, forgetting for that second that Jerry's concussion makes him very sensitive to loud noises. She huffs, frustrated tears stinging her eyes. "Sorry."

As she squats to deal with the mess, the chair behind her creaks with weight lifting off of it and her husband crouches next to her. "I can help."

Diana shakes her head, pushing his hands away. "No, I can deal with it."

"Let me—” 

"I've got it!" 

He recoils at her outburst and she can already see the hurt in his eyes, but she doesn't meet his gaze and stubbornly cleans the mess up by herself. The rice has picked up dirt from the floor but maybe it's salvageable if she rinses it a few times, so she moves the water off its burner. 

Jerry slowly stands up next to her. "I could have helped you." 

As she pours watcher from a pitcher into the bowl and adds the soiled rice, Diana says in a clipped tone, "You're hurt. You have to rest."

"You're hurt, too," he points out, leaning on the wall for support. 

Diana presses her mouth into a thin line and refuses to respond. 

Sighing, Jerry hobbles back to his chair and sits. For a moment the only sound in their room is rice rhythmically hitting the sides of a metal bowl and the first tendrils of evening wind pressing themselves against their little window. Then he says, "Are you still mad?"

She swallows. "Why would I be mad?"

"You know why."

"So tell me, then."

"Because I went back on my word," he says. "I told you I was sorry. I know that I scared you."

He grabs her hand but she rips it out of his grasp. 

"You could have died!" she cries. "What would I have done?"

"I know that. I'm sorry," he repeats. "But please can you not yell?"

A lump grows in her throat and she shuts her eyes tightly to keep the tears at bay. 

Jerry continues, "I told him no at first. I swear. More than one time. But he kept offering me more money-- twenty dollars for a win, ten for a loss. I thought that even if I got a little beat up it would still be worth it. I mean,  _ sacrement _ , Diana, twenty dollars! How could I say no to that? I wanted you not to be worried about money anymore." 

"So it's me, then?"

"Of course not! It's me." He shakes his head and his eyes turn glossy. "It's my job to make sure you have what you need and I wish I could do that better. Last time I couldn't... I don't want to see you hurt anymore. I can't stand it."

With that her heart breaks and she sags against the counter. Wishes she were normal and her brain wasn't sick and that Jerry had a wife who didn't cause him so much grief. 

"I have to tell you something," she says suddenly, abandoning the bowl of rice to sit in the chair next to her husband's. 

He nods and reaches for her hand. She doesn't pull away this time. 

“The other day,” she starts, then stops to clear her throat. “When things looked really, really bad for you… and when Gabe sent me home I was here all alone— and I, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t read, so I—”

The words get jumbled together in her throat and he squeezes her palm. Diana closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, the silence hanging in the air, palpable, interrupted by only the sound of a child squealing down on the road below. 

“And once I started I just couldn’t stop. It was just like…” 

Jerry doesn’t hesitate to pull her into his arms and onto his lap. Her weight on his legs must hurt but if so he doesn’t show it. 

“But I didn’t— I didn’t get rid of it,” Diana continues, “I came really close but I didn’t. Now I’m just scared.”

“I know,” he says quietly. 

“I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

He exhales quietly. She feels his breath on her ear. “I could tell you were holding it in. I wanted to give you a chance to let it out.” 

Diana rests her head on his shoulder. “I wasn’t really mad at you. I thought I was but I wasn’t. It was like... you know when you’re walking and you almost slip on ice, and you get angry because you’re scared?”

“I understand.”

“It’s okay if you’re angry with me instead,” she tells him. 

Remarkably, Jerry chuckles. “Why would I be angry? I’m the one who got myself hurt.”

Then Diana says what she’s been holding in for a year. “Because I lost the baby last year.”

Jerry draws back, his eyebrows scrunched together and confusion written on his face. “I never blamed you for that. Never.”

“Why not? It was my fault.”

“No,  _ mon oisillon _ , you were sick. We always knew you might get sick again.”

She presses on, “What if I’m sick like that, again and again, for the rest of my life? Can you handle that?”

“I love you. Of course I can.” 

“You just said you couldn’t stand it,” she points out. 

“ _ Rgard _ , Diana.” Jerry sighs and places a gentle but firm hand on her cheek. “You know that I love you. I would fight a million Bernhard Graffs every day for the rest of my life if that meant you would never hurt again.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“No it’s not. So I’ll manage.” He shakes his head but a soft smile adorns his lips. “You are the strongest person I’ve ever met. Did you know that? I’m proud of you for stopping yourself.”

Diana buries herself in his arms, suddenly so thankful that he’s here and alive. 

“I need you,” she says. “Heavens, I need you to be here this time.”

He plants a kiss on the side of her head and nods, holding her as close to him as possible. She doesn’t hear him cry, doesn’t see the tears, but Diana feels the dampness on her shoulder anyway. 

~

The air is lighter after that. Over the next few days, Jerry takes remarkable strides in his recovery and Diana gains back more energy as well. Emotionally, she’s doing better than she has in weeks and she decides to pen another letter to Aunt Josephine. 

This only lasts for so long. Soon, the box runs out of food and Diana soon faces the reality that she doesn’t know where they’ll get their next meal. It’s still difficult for both of them to leave the house. Thankfully, Cole stops by unexpectedly to offer help.

“I meant to write you about our situation,” Diana tells Cole as she lets him inside. “I’ve been so preoccupied this last week, I’m afraid.”

“No worries. I’m sure you had your hands full,” he says with a smile, removing his hat. “Jerry, hello.  _ Comment allez-vous _ ?”

“Fine,” Jerry answers from the kitchen table. “You are learning French?”

Cole laughs and shrugs as Diana offers him a seat next to Jerry. “Oh, only some. It’s good to know at least a little, living here.” Sitting down, he removes his coat. “So you’re both doing fine, then? Is there anything you need?”

Diana hears the offer of money in his tone. “Nothing substantial, but if you could accompany me to the market…”

“Of course. Do you want to go today?”

Diana looks at Jerry for approval and he nods. 

“I’ll be fine here alone. Do what you must,” he says. 

So Diana gathers her coat and three of the bills that Donny gave them and she and Cole walk to Ste. Anne’s Market. There are markets closer, but nothing as cheap and as lively as Ste. Anne’s as it serves and is served by Montreal’s poorest residents. Diana buys the most that she can, intending to can and preserve some of the fresh food for later. 

On their way back, Diana asks Cole, “Who told you Jerry was hurt?”

“Gabe,” he says. 

“So you’ve seen him recently, then?”

The tips of Cole’s ears redden and he gives her a sly smile. 

“I knew it!” she exclaims. “Are you two together?”

“Not yet. Maybe. I don’t know. It’s funny. We both moved out here to escape the smallness of the island, and then what happens? We start seeing someone from Avonlea. It’s really not fair.” Cole laughs. “Don’t tell Jerry yet, alright? Not until we work out whatever this is.”

“I won’t,” she swears and she means it. 

The next day, Gabe comes by around lunchtime with a few loaves of bread and some eggs. Diana doesn’t want to accept them at first, but Gabe does a thorough job of convincing her, meaning that he leaves the food on her table and sprints out of the door before she can give it back. 

She expects that to be the last of it only for a knock to sound on her door the next day, and then the day after that, and then the day after  _ that _ . Jerry’s coworkers, Corinne, the Byrnes. Even little Phoebe Wilson comes by with her father, bringing them things. Jars of goods, jellies, breads— things that are luxuries to every poor person who knows them. 

Diana and Jerry are a bit bewildered about the whole thing and have no idea who could have told everyone. She has an idea, though she can’t decide if it was Gabe or Cole. 

When Cole knocks on her door a week later, Diana figures that she can ask him. But as she lets him inside, she takes in Cole’s appearance and knows something is wrong. His lopsided shirt where the top button has been fastened through the wrong hole. His mismatched socks, his red-rimmed and swollen eyes. 

Diana’s heart drops. “Cole, what’s the matter?”

Jerry sits up in bed, startled perhaps by the concern in her voice. 

Cole thrust out his hand, which shakily holds a crumpled letter. Diana gingerly takes the letter from him. As she scans it, Cole says it out loud: “It’s Aunt Josephine. She— she’s died.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am excited to post this one! please yell at me for killing aunt josephine by leaving a comment <3 or message me on tumblr @antspaul. if you're really mad, direct your anger to phoebe (@remylebae on ao3, @remylebub on tumblr) because she convinced me to kill aunt josephine instead of jerry's dad lol. i love hearing from you all!! 
> 
> historical fact: there were neighborhood mutual aid associations that would have helped out a family undergoing a crisis like Jerry and Diana. the one that would have served their area was the St. Vincent de Paul society, which was a widespread charity organization that existed outside of montreal but was the primary mutual aid society in the francophone part of the city. 
> 
> next chapter, jerry, diana, and cole go back to charlottetown. chapter after next is the epilogue!


	12. Sunday, April 15, 1906

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1905, Diana and Jerry travel home to Avonlea. In 1906, the reading of the will means more than one surprise for Diana.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last chapter before the epilogue! i hope you all enjoyed this fic. i can't believe that i finished a fic that i was working on for this long! i laugh when i look at the author's notes for thin ice and see that i promised this fic in early 2019. obviously that did not happen lmao. but looky!!! i did it :) 
> 
> thanks as always to gus and phoebe! you are the reason i'm still writing, and the reason i completed this fic even after dragging my feet and going through one of the hardest years of my life <3 
> 
> chapter warnings: restriction, mentions of malnourishment, bingeing and purging, miscarriage, ed treatment, death, and pregnancy.

January 1905

They all pretend not to, but everyone keeps their eyes trained on Diana as she pushes food back and forth on her plate with a fork that shakes in her hand. Her eyes stare blankly forward, unseeing. Occasionally, with a sudden burst of movement, she sits up straighter and her sight gains direction and intent, at which point her family release their breathes and look elsewhere, anywhere but at her. 

Jerry’s heart sinks deeper and deeper into his chest with every minute that passes as, through Diana’s parents and sister, he sees through fresh eyes what he neglected to notice about his wife for the last few months.

Jerry hates himself. They all know he's to blame. 

Very little eating is being done at the Barry's dining room table this evening. The gravity of the situation has stolen the appetites of all except for, it seems, Minnie May Barry. At twelve she is only starting to understand her sister's illness, and remembers very little of six years ago. A few months into their engagement, Diana told Jerry that William and Eliza neglected to explain anything at all. Being the small, adaptable six year-old she was, Minnie May accepted the sweeping changes to their family's life, all of the doctor's visits and live in assistants and closely monitored mealtimes, with ease. The only thing that bothered her, Diana had said, was that sweets no longer openly sat out on the kitchen counter, ready for little fingers to grab a handful when Young Mary Joe turned her back. 

Minnie May chews loudly and this more than anything else elicits movement from Diana as she winces. Ten minutes into the meal the Barrys stopped trying to make conversation with their daughter. Diana gave nothing but one word answers or shrugs, leaving Jerry to elaborate if they wanted more explanation. Apparently they didn't want anything more from him. 

Both of the Barrys have made attempts to fill the silence. William keeps clearing his throat and coughing awkwardly. Eliza nags at Minnie May to sit up straight, to chew quieter, to tell her sister charming anecdotes about church and school that never seem to end the way her mother had anticipated. Not that Diana is paying any attention at all. 

An hour in, Mary Joe bustles into the room, announcing brightly, "Would anyone like dessert? I made a sugar pie this afternoon." Then, a moment later, she continues, "Or I can come back when you're ready."

Diana's stare hardens and her grip on the fork grows tighter until Jerry can see her fingers whiten with pressure. He grabs her other hand and squeezes it gently to show her support. Her hand remains limp in his palm. 

"I'm ready," says Minnie May.

Eliza shoots her a pointed look before telling Mary Joe, "No dessert tonight, I don't think. But thank you."

William clears his throat again and Jerry could scream. "Why don't you go home, yes? Take the pie with you. I'm sure your family would appreciate something sweet." 

Mary Joe's cheeks turn the slightest shade of pink and she nods, taking her leave and leaving them in the silence once again. Jerry absentmindedly moves a carrot from his plate and into his mouth. 

The jarring sound of silver hitting china startles them all upright. 

"I'm sorry," Diana says quietly. "I dropped it." 

The utensil teeters on the lip of her plate, the head of the handle resting on the tablecloth and the tines pointed upward. A circle of mashed potatoes rests next to it, presumably a casualty of the fall. 

"That's quite alright, darling," Eliza says. 

"I feel quite exhausted, all of a sudden," Diana says, her throat hoarse from either misuse or disuse. "I think I'll go to bed."

The sun has barely sank below the horizon and it's January. Were they back in the city, Jerry would be walking to his other job now. Instead, he's six hundred miles away in the dining room of his wife's parents who will never accept him. 

"Are you okay?" Jerry asks her softly, as he holds out his arms for her to steady herself on. 

Diana nods, just slight enough for him to notice, and clings to him for support. With the state of her body, she should barely be able to hold herself upright. But even in her sickness Diana maintains as much posture as her situation allows. 

Eliza and William stand, but neither move any further. 

"Goodnight," William says. Eliza presses her lips into a thin line, eyes glassy, and doesn't speak.

Diana nods and Jerry guides her to her room, one of the guest rooms downstairs as Diana is too weak to climb to her childhood bedroom upstairs. He sets her on her bed and pulls off her clothes gently as she sits there, floppy and unresponsive like a life-size version of one of Evangeline's dolls. Then he pulls a nightgown over her head, a silky thing laid on the bed by Eliza or Mary Joe. He hasn't seen her wear something so nice since their wedding night. Normally the sight of his wife in something so beautiful would get his blood pumping, but the sheer fabric reveals the sharp angles of her hips and elbows, contrasting the rounded circle of her stomach, not yet deflated. 

Across from them, a tall mirror reflects the whole bed. As Jerry untucks the blankets and prepares them for Diana, he sees her staring into it, barely stopping to even blink. Her hand shakily moves from her side to ghost over her belly, never quite making contact before falling back down. 

"Ready?" he asks. 

"Yes." 

He helps her slide under the covers. When Diana is all tucked in but still shivers, he drapes another blanket over her, knowing that her coldness comes from inside, not out, and nothing can be done tonight to stop the chill. Then he crouches at her side, running a thumb over her cheek and placing a kiss on her forehead that he hopes communicates all he feels. 

And then, well, he doesn't know what to do next. It's only five-thirty in the evening. Sleep won't come to him yet and he won't keep Diana awake. So, even though he feels unwelcome and strange being at the Barry's without Diana by his side, Jerry exits the room and gently shuts the door behind him. 

In the time that he spent getting Diana ready for bed, William and Eliza have cleared the table and moved to the sitting room. His father in law reads a newspaper and his mother in law halfheartedly pushes a needle in and out of a piece of fabric.

"Diana is in bed," he tells them needlessly. 

"Why don't you join us," William suggests. 

Jerry frowns, suspicious, but obliges him, taking a seat next to William, opposite Eliza. He prepares to give some sort of explanation but he doesn't know where to start. He doesn't think they knew about the baby. Diana hadn't even told Anne. 

But instead of demanding an explanation, William sighs and passes an envelope to Jerry. "Here you are."

Jerry takes it tentatively, getting a bad feeling, and opens it to see money. A lot of money. 

"It's enough for a train back to the city," William says. "And then some." 

Enough for a single train ticket. 

He stares at the envelope blankly. “You want me to leave her,” he says. 

“We’ve already sent for the institution that helped her last time,” explains William. “She’s to be picked up tomorrow.”

“This isn’t right. She still needs me.” 

William shakes his head amiably, as though this weren’t a betrayal. “She won’t need any of us once she’s there. She’ll be in good hands, I promise.”

Jerry sethes, panicked anger running up his spine at the thought of his wife spending the next weeks alone. Honestly he doesn’t know if she can handle it. 

“I should be with her when she goes there. They don’t know—” At once overwhelmed, he breathes out a frustrated sigh and throws the money on the table in front of him. “Maybe I should go with her, so I can explain to the people there what happened to her.”

Eliza has been quiet up until now. But she abruptly drops her sewing into her lap and says, “You’ve done quite enough, I’d say.” Then, a beat later, deflates a little and continues, “It would be best for everyone involved if you would let her go without a fight.” 

Let her go to the institution, Eliza literally means. Deeper, she still resents Jerry for stealing Diana away and sentencing her to a life of poverty in a city two days away by train. Sometimes he has the same thought when he holds her shivering form, cold in the freezing January night despite the fire burning in the oven and every piece of clothing they own draped over them. 

William looks surprised at Eliza’s words but he isn’t particularly apologetic about it.

Jerry swallows and lets his gaze drift away from them as he says, “She will think I left without her.” 

William sits up straighter. “The carriage comes after breakfast tomorrow. You can bid farewell then, of course.”

A pit forms at the pit of Jerry’s stomach but he slowly reaches for the envelope of money anyway. 

“That’s a good lad,” says William. 

~

1906

It’s the day after the funeral, A lot of people are congregated in Aunt Josephine’s large library. Not the most that Diana has seen crowd there during a soiree, but enough that the sheer number of bodies renders the air damp and hot. It’s not who’s there, though; it’s who isn’t. The room feels foreign and bare, as everyone sits gloomily in large chairs and barely moves or even talks. 

It’s not true that no one talks. A few people in one of the corners stand in a circle and chat, their voices quiet but lively. Diana doesn’t know who they are exactly but thinks she recognizes one or two from the soiree a few months ago. 

She herself sits in an armchair that used to be in one of Aunt Jo’s guest rooms but has been transplanted to the library for the purpose of the will-reading. Jerry stands awkwardly next to her, his hand resting on the top edge of the chair, a few inches above her head. He stares blankly at the floor, visibly uncomfortable. He doesn’t look as miserable as Cole, though, who rests on the floor with his back against the wall and eyes firmly shut. Cole cried nearly the whole train ride to Charlottetown and slept very little, which must have been thoroughly exhausting for him. 

She rests a hand on her stomach, trying to subdue the nausea climbing up her throat, a combination of morning sickness and the fact that her parents and sister sit only a few feet away and Diana has yet to say anything to them beyond a brief hello. Jerry knows how much she’s dreading it, this inevitable reunion with her parents after leaving them on such unpleasant terms last year, and keeps catching her eye to nod reassuringly. 

Thankfully, the arbitrator soon enters the library and clears his throat, calling everyone to attention. He introduces himself as Ernest Randall, and without much preamble opens the envelope containing Aunt Josephine’s most recent will. 

Mr. Randall reads, “I, Josephine Barry, presently of Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island, declare that this is my Last Will and Testament.” His eyes scan down the sheet and he explains to the room that the next few lines just explain his duties as Executor of the will. “I am glad to explain at a later time what this entails, but let’s get to the part you’re all here for, shall we? Ah, yes— Disposition of Estate. ‘Item A: I leave to Anne Shirley of Avonlea, Prince Edward Island, if she shall survive me, for her own use absolutely, the following: three thousand dollars and the entirety of my library collection, or as much as she cares to possess.”

Anne isn’t here to hear this, and that tugs painfully at Diana’s heart. She stares at her lap as Jerry rests a comforting hand on her shoulder and Mr. Randall reads a few more lines where Aunt Jo gives various priceless pieces of art away to her friends. 

The reading goes slowly. Aunt Jo clearly started small and is working her way up the largest donations or most important people. By the time Mr. Randall gets to Cole, Minnie May has received a hefty fund to be used exclusively for her education and a charity that teaches art and music to destitute children was dealt an equally large sum. Diana’s mind swims with numbers and names and priceless sculptures that belonged to her Aunt only a week ago. How much did Aunt Josephine own? How rich are the Barrys? She realizes she has no true answer even though she grew up one of them. By the time her father would have trusted her to know such information, she had already turned her back on her family. 

Aunt Josephine gives Cole ownership of her apartments in New York and London as well as forty thousand dollars. Mr. Randall reads the amount out loud and the room, previously restless as the executor read down the long list, erupted in soft whispers. How much money could possibly be left after that? She thinks through everything of value to her aunt and struggles to come up with any material possessions left, so the remainder must be money. Mr. Randall hasn’t called her parents out, other than to name them as the guardians in charge of Minnie May’s school fund, so perhaps they’re next in the will. Whose name would be after her adopted son besides her closest blood relatives?

Mr. Randall proves her right with his next sentence. Diana sinks down further in the armchair now knowing she wasn’t in the will. Her cheeks burn in her foolishness for coming all this way to attend a will reading she wasn’t included in, and for thinking she might be included in the first place after years of complaining to Aunt Josephine and Cole about her parents trying to force themselves back into her life with money when she and Jerry were doing just fine. 

Diana tries to compose herself and quell the disappointment biting at her throat. The vanity of the thought strikes her suddenly. They buried Aunt Josephine yesterday and here she is, mourning the money she didn’t get instead of her dearest family member. So she breathes in and out and sits up a little taller as Mr. Randall reads the sentence granting her parents, as with the others before them, an exact sum of money, which elicits a look of disapproval on their faces matching Diana’s insides a second ago. 

William and Eliza, with more money than they needed and an estate that could house every poor French family on the island, felt that they deserved more than the charities and artists and musicians. She pities her parents in that moment, their disappointment soothing her own. Jerry strokes the back of her neck and she leans into the touch. 

But Mr. Randall isn’t done, not yet. He clears his throat and says, “All right, ladies and gentlemen. Last item now.”

And the next item, Item P, goes to Diana Barry of Montreal, Quebec. The raw surprise takes hold and briefly deafens her ears so that she doesn't hear Mr. Randall say the words, but absorbs them. People whispered about Cole’s inheritance but now they don’t bother to hush their voices at all. 

Jerry grabs her hand. “Diana…” he starts but, like her, he seems to run out of words. 

She stands up. Her body discretely shakes under her skirt and shawl as all eyes in the room watch her. “I should—” Her voice catches in her throat and she doesn’t say anymore. Awareness of the spectacle doesn’t stop Diana from turning her back and exiting the library as quickly as possible. 

The rest of Aunt Josephine’s money. 

_ And her house _ . 

~

Change always intimates Diana, no matter how good or bad, big or small. Even welcome change could make her head spin with anxiety. Instantaneously becoming rich in her own right after spending the last three years in a rear tenement is far from unwelcome but the future now looks so different than it did twenty minutes ago. She lies on the bed she and Jerry have slept in the last few days trying to wrap her mind around their new circumstances, a pillow thrown over her head, when a knock comes at the door. The sound, too playful and quick, can’t belong to Jerry even though he probably wants nothing more than to burst in and hold her until she’s alright again. They’ve gone through enough together to know each other in situations like these, where emotions run high and Diana needs time to think. 

The knock probably didn’t come from one of her parents either. Curiosity getting the better of her, Diana sighs and gets off the bed to open the door. 

“Mother and Father aren’t mad at you, you know,” Minnie May Barry says, barging in before Diana even has time to react. “I thought they might be, just like you, but I don’t think they are.” 

Diana shuts the door behind her sister, unsure what to make of this. Minnie May sits on the bed, where the blankets were rumpled from Diana’s lie-down, and Diana joins her. 

“Why would I think they were mad?” Diana asks. 

Minnie May shrugs. “I don’t know. Isn’t that why you ran out?”

“I didn’t run anywhere.” 

Fixing her with a scrupulous look, Minnie May says, “With all of the running I’ve seen you do, I think I know what it looks like.” 

She isn’t talking about the physical act of moving her body very quickly from one place to the next. Diana frowns, annoyed at Minnie May’s uninvited but not unwarranted wisdom. “Is Jerry still downstairs?” 

“No. He’s sitting outside that door looking very sad but I told him I’d talk to you first and he thought that was a good idea.” 

Diana looked to the door. Jerry was probably right. When she was upset around him everything tended to pour out of her mouth at once and right now, such a moment would do more harm than good. She said, “So you’re assigned to Diana duty today, then.” 

Minnie May rolled her eyes. “You’re so dramatical sometimes. You know, when you love someone you have to take care of them sometimes.”

Aunt Josephine had said something like that to her, the last time they spoke at January’s soiree.  _ Remember you have family on the Island that love you _ . 

“Is that what Mother and Father were doing, caring for me?” Diana asked incredulously. “When they sent my husband away and put me alone in an institution for three months?”

“Obviously they didn’t do a very good job, but they’re Mother and Father. The only way they know how to handle anything is by throwing as much money as they can at it. Both times that you were sick Mother barely slept. They may be annoying and idiotic—” 

Diana rolls her eyes at Minnie May’s serious tone and choice of words. 

“—But they still love you.”

Although Minnie May wasn’t saying anything that Diana didn’t already know, the pity she had felt earlier for her parents returned and she felt a new understanding of them. The images of her mother and father as ruthless, cold figures who only cared about image and wealth morphed into more sympathetic figures who have spent their whole lives secluded from true pain and joy, the things that built courage and gave life texture, and who now cowarded away from these things in the far corners of their estate house. 

“What did Mother and Father do, truthfully, when Mr. Randall read my part of the will?” she asks. 

Minnie May grins, one corner of her mouth tugged up higher than the other. “Well, at first I thought they would be angry or confused and cause a scene and demand that the lawyer find a newer version or something. But it was really peculiar. Father and Mother just looked at each other and he patted her hand. I think she even smiled at him.”

Diana ponders the image. “I suppose they’re satisfied that I won’t be living in— living how I am anymore.” 

Admitting to her sister that she and Jerry live in poverty constitutes a betrayal of sorts to her husband, who sits outside in the hallway hearing every word, for all she knows. 

Minnie May lets out a laugh. “Sister, you sound like you  _ want  _ to be poor.”

“No one wants to be poor,” Diana snaps. “But we have enough to survive and we’re happy. A hundred other people in our ward can’t say the same.”

While the former is not quite the truth, the latter is definitely not a lie. She reads the papers. The  _ Gazette _ likes to run stories by reformers who reported horrors of the slums alongside mesmerizing pictures of small rooms that housed two or three large families. 

“So take the money and give it to them for all I care,” Minnie May shoots back. “But really. Of anyone in that room you probably need it the most. Certainly more than Mother or Father. Don’t act like that isn’t true.”

Diana sighs and puts her head in her hands. Her mind drifts to the baby in her stomach. To the baby that was in her stomach over a year ago who never grew large enough for them to hold. To the near-empty savings jar sitting above their stove, becoming blacker by the day as smoke from the oven stains everything around it. To Jerry, who three weeks ago was the nearest he’d ever been to death and who will probably walk with a limp for the rest of his life. 

Diana takes a deep breath. “Then I suppose I have some business to sort out with Mr. Raymond.”

Minnie May smiles triumphantly and tells her, “Maybe you should sort some things out with your husband first.”

A little while later, Jerry and Diana lay side-by-side on the bed. 

“This feels a little like a dream,” she tells him. 

“I was going to say it feels like our wedding. But same thing,” Jerry replies and Diana laughs quietly. 

This was the bedroom they stayed in after the ceremony and reception, held downstairs. This bed witnessed their first married night. Their first alone moments as man and wife. She doesn’t know why she only just realized. The thought strikes Diana with a sudden urgency.

“We can’t sell this house, can we?” she says. 

Jerry interlaces their fingers together. “I don’t think they’d ever forgive us.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only one more chapter left, which will be posted in congruence with this one. i hope you enjoyed this! i really liked writing parts of this chapter. i was originally going to include more interactions, but i felt a more toned-down open-ended end to the fic, especially as far as character relationships go, would be more appropriate. you'll see a little more next chapter what i mean. 
> 
> also, i didn't include it in this chapter, but i think that aunt jo received diana's letters that she wrote in the last few chapters and knew that she didn't have much time left to respond to them. if you remember the chapter where cole and diana go to her last soiree, aunt jo is already sick, though she hasn't disclosed that to the rest of her family. i think that her will, in a way, is her response. 
> 
> historical fact: anorexia, at this point in time, was just started to be widely recognized as a mental disease by aliensits/psychiatrists. bulimia wouldn't be defined as separate until the 1980s. likely if diana needed to receive treatment she would have had to travel farther than charlottetown or nova scotia. but oh well! too tricky. 
> 
> next chapter: Summer 1907 in Charlottetown, PEI.


	13. Epilogue: Summer 1907

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last chapter!!! thank you all so much for your support and kind words. this story has taken me through some of the craziest times in my life, and i doubt i'd be the person or the writer that i am today if i hadn't written this. this fic has also helped me form many close friendships, including but limited to my dear gus and phoebe, who were on my side cheering me on before i even published the first chapter of thin ice. 
> 
> no warnings this time. 
> 
> please enjoy <3

1907

The hotel bustles with people: maids, butlers, concierges, guests all darting around the hallways, creating a tapestry of movement not unlike that found in the energy of the wintertime soiree held in the hotel’s very halls more than a year prior. Diana and Jerry had skipped the soiree out of necessity, as they renovated Aunt Josephine’s mansion into one meant to regularly accommodate and feed more than five people at once. 

Summer in Charlottetown always brings travelers from all directions to the city, with its rich red soil, cool air, and pleasant beaches. This year is no different. The hotel opened only in May but the rooms have remained full since that first day. Diana thought, at first, living in the big house alongside many strangers cycling in and out would steal their privacy, and the other mothers in her sewing circle thought she was mad for raising a child, much less a young baby, in such a setting. But the hum of activity at all times of day reminded her of the good she found their tenement in Montreal. Other lives inches away, separated only by thin walls. A reminder that while other people suffered, and cried, and fought, they also slept, and laughed, and sang songs loudly when they were alone. 

As for the baby— well, Trudy adjusted just fine after a day. Children are remarkable in their ability to adapt. 

Diana stands at the top of the stairwell, eyes trained on the door. Today marks two months since the hotel’s first day, and so Jerry and Diana invited a number of their friends and family to come and celebrate. Her heart jumps at the thought of a few distinct names on that list, though for different reasons. She’s waiting for the first of those names right now. 

The concierge, Mallory, opens the door and someone walks in, heels clicking against the floor with such purpose that the sound could belong to no one else but Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, soon to be Blythe.

Diana quickly descends the staircase and throws her arms open to embrace her friend, who drops her suitcases and squeezes Diana tight. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Diana says. “Where’s Gilbert?”

Anne laughs, the kind of laugh elevated from the situation by the permanent joy that comes with love. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, dear heart. Oh, here he comes now.”

So much has happened since they saw each other last. They’ll surely discuss that later but first Diana must greet Gilbert Blythe, who treks in holding a number of suitcases clearly too heavy for one person to manage. Mallory moves to take them, but Gilbert puts up a hand in refusal. He can’t so easily refuse, though, when Jerry rushes in from the dining room and grabs a bag without asking. 

The two men struggle to put the heavy bags on the ground and then with large breathes join their women, who have been watching the spectacle, laughing behind coy hands. 

Diana hasn’t seen her husband since breakfast, as Jerry likes to tend to the horses and confer with the groundskeeper in the morning, so she gives him a small peck on the cheek before pulling Gilbert into a hug as fierce as the one she gave to Anne. He returns it with equal kindness but perhaps less strength, as his arms still tremble slightly from the effort. Anne similarly attacks Jerry in a hug, which makes him laugh.

“Hello, Diana,” Gilbert says once everyone is separate again, smiling with a radiance only ever seen from him around Anne. He shakes hands with Jerry. “Hello, Jerry. Very good to see you both.”

They exchange pleasantries, and Anne and Gilbert assure Jerry and Diana that their train ride to Charlottetown was pleasant. 

Then, Anne says, “There’s something we wanted to ask you two.”

Gilbert clears his throat and says, “Well, we were hoping that… if it were alright, and not too much trouble for business…” 

“Could we have the wedding here?” asks Anne. 

Diana and Jerry share a look. Diana smiles broadly and takes Anne’s hands in her own. “Of course! That would be perfect.”

Anne sighs, relieved, and gives Gilbert a meaningful glance. “Oh, I had hoped you would say so! I just couldn’t bear for it to be anywhere else. I know you had your wedding here, and I wouldn’t want to copy you, but this place is meant for celebration, don’t you think?” 

“When is it going to be?” asks Jerry. 

“February,” says Gilbert. “Or March. If that’s easier.”

Jerry nods in approval. They’ll talk about the logistics later but Diana knows Jerry is already thinking about all of the preparations that will need to be made until then, something, she’s learned, he is quite good at. The thought of Anne and Jerry planning a wedding together, and the chaos that will undoubtedly follow, brings a chuckle to her lips. 

Anne sighs dreamily and clasps her hands. “Where is that little girl of yours, Di? I want to see her badly. She was all I could think or talk about on the train ride here.” 

“Yes, please show her the child before she asks me for one before the wedding,” Gilbert says and Anne elbows him sharply in the stomach. 

Diana laughs and leads Anne upstairs. Gilbert stays downstairs with Jerry, who calls Mallory over to assist them with the bags. As they round the corner to Diana and Jerry’s room, she hears him oblige. 

Anne holds little Trudy in her arms, smiling and cooing. In a hushed voice over the sleeping baby, Anne says, “You’ve done so very well.”

Does she refer to the hotel? The baby? Diana herself? It doesn’t matter. 

“I had hoped you’d think so,” Diana says. One look at her little daughter, getting less little by the day, and a grin takes over her mouth. She just can’t help it. 

~

“Are you ready to see them?” Jerry asks later, hours after Anne and Gilbert have settled into their room and embarked on a stroll around the property. 

Diana nods firmly. “Yes, of course.”

She clutches little Trudy to her chest and prepares to greet her mother and father, the other notable guests, at the door. Their carriage traces the edge of the road until it’s fully in view and then Eliza and William step out. They’re followed by Minnie May, who waves to Diana as she darts in the opposite direction of the door towards a fruiting apple tree. 

Eliza holds William’s arm as they ascend the staircase. 

“Hello Mother, Father,” Diana says cordially. Their presence doesn’t alarm her, put her on edge like it used to. She hands Jerry the baby so she can properly receive them. 

Her parents haven’t been to Aunt Josephine’s house since Trudy’s birth, so they’ve missed all of the renovations. Today they see the hotel for the first time in its intended state, with all of the song and dance of an active business. They stand in the doorway for a moment, looking around the lobby with curious eyes. 

William smiles at Diana and Jerry. “Well done, darling. I can almost hear Aunt Josephine singing the praises of you both.” 

Diana doesn’t miss the way her husband smiles at his inclusion in her father’s words. Jerry doesn’t yearn for their approval like she does, but the acknowledgement is a step in the right direction. 

“Well, you haven’t seen the rest of the house yet,” Diana jokes. 

Eliza says, “I am sure it will be marvelous.”

“I had a lot of help.” 

As William shakes hands with Jerry and coos at little Trudy, Diana’s mother embraces her and Diana returns the hug warmly. Diana recalls the hug she shared with her mother the night of the will reading. How when Diana had whispered that she forgave her, Eliza broke down in sobs and for the first time in her life, Diana felt like she truly understood her mother. The feeling hasn’t gone away.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Diana tells Eliza in a soft voice, and she means it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's it!!! i really can't believe that it's over. i poured a lot of myself into this fic, and a lot of diana's struggles mirror my own (of course, more so in thin ice than in this fic lmao). to hear your kind words about this fic meant even more to me because of this. it's very strange that i don't plan on writing more anne with an e fic after this, as it's been about two years to the date of me starting to write thin ice! it's like a chapter of my life is closing, even if it is a silly fanfic. 
> 
> Your feedback means so much to me. please leave a comment or reach out to me on tumblr @antspaul. 
> 
> and thank you for reading!


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